


Weight

by seven77



Category: Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (2012)
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, F/M, Handcuffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seven77/pseuds/seven77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jameson's plans to capture Spider-Man backfire, he finds himself in the worst situation possible -- handcuffed to that wallcrawling menace!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after The Amazing Spider-Man. Based off of The Amazing Spider-Man #191 and the Spider-Man TAS episode: "Return of the Spider-Slayer."

The party has only just started, but Jameson’s pretty sure Harry Osborn’s already drunk.  He’s stumbling around in his three-thousand dollar designer tuxedo, kissing the hands of random women.

“This isn’t one of your college keg parties,” Jameson grumbles to the kid.  

“I know, JJ,” Harry smirks. “Which is why I _don’t_ have a lampshade on my head.  Chillax.”

Jameson twitches.  He notes that Harry’s speaking clearly without slurring his words at all. So not drunk then, just an idiot.   Jameson has to work hard to bite his tongue for once.  He will _not_ blow off on Norman Osborn’s son.  But he will not “chillax” either.  This is one of the most stressful nights Jameson has ever been put through.

It’s hard to remember why Jameson had been persuaded into thinking having both the commemorative party for Captain George Stacy, which he is hosting, and the spider-slayer operation, which he is also heavily involved in, on the same night was a good idea, but he recalls it having something to do with making money, and so he went along with it.

Now that the night has finally arrived -- the night of the anniversary of Captain Stacy’s death -- it seems like a horrible idea.  Yes, both the party and the operation serve the purpose of honoring the Captain, by celebrating his legacy and bringing one of the men behind his death to justice, respectively, but it’s also got Jameson so worked up he can barely focus on either one.  

“I’ll relax when this is all over,” Jameson says, referring to both events, although Jameson doubts Norman had let his son in on the plan to capture and unmask Spider-Man.  The only people he knows are in on it are Norman, himself, a few employees at Oscorp, the news crew he dispatched to broadcast the momentous event when it was time, and of course, the mastermind behind the spider-slayer, Alistair Smythe.

Jameson gets no response, probably because he’d been so distracted he hadn’t even noticed Harry has left his side and danced his way halfway across the party.  Jameson sighs, looking for someone else to talk to so he doesn’t look like some kind of weirdo loner.

He spots Helen Stacy entering -- fashionably late to her late husband’s party, and decides he should probably talk to her, seeing as she did lose her husband blah blah blah. Well, maybe he’ll at least get something he can use for a new story.  He approaches her nonchalantly.  

“You look beautiful tonight, Helen,” Jameson says smoothly, earning himself a sad smile from the widow.

“Thank you, Jonah,” she responds.  “It was very nice of you to host this party.”

“Of course.  George was a great man.  A _real_ hero.” Emphasis on the real. Not a fake hero -- masked freak -- like Spider-Man.  That’s implied.

“He certainly had a lot of friends,” Helen says, looking around at the full ballroom.  

“Lot of people looked up to him,” Jameson agrees solemnly.  “Me included.”  Jameson wonders if they’ve exchanged an appropriate amount of small talk and if it’s an acceptable time yet to get down to the juicy details.  Can’t hurt to give it a try.  “Now, the Daily Bugle wants to know--”

Before he can finish that sentence, he’s interrupted by the entrance of a blond young woman with a lanky brunet on her arm.

“You remember my daughter, Gwen.” Helen gestures to the girl.

“Parker,” Jameson barks at the young man beside her.  “You’re late.”  It’s no surprise.  Jameson hired Parker six, maybe seven months ago, and in the short time he’s been employed, Parker has been on time possibly once, if that.

Peter looks at him with that deer-in-headlights look he gets a lot.  “Well I, uh I--I’m here now, Mr. Jameson,” he says. His fingers find the camera around his neck and raise it to his face. “S-see, I’m taking--taking pictures and everything.”  He smiles shyly. Jameson scowls and Peter gets a good picture of it.  

“Oh, I forgot you work for Jonah, Peter,” Helen says.

“Y--yeah, I do,” Peter stutters. “It’s such a--such a pleasure.  Really--really spectacular.” Peter says this  in that way he sometimes says things where Jameson can tell there’s a double meaning to his words. Ungrateful punk.

“Well I’m not paying for you to stand around kissing asses, Parker! Take some pictures of something other than the wallcrawler for once!”

“Y--yeah, yeah. Of course, of course,” Peter says quickly.

Jameson seethes at the reminder that he’d had to hire this unprofessional kid for this event -- all of his good photographers were stationed at Oscorp for the great unmasking.  Not only does Peter Parker seem completely incapable of stringing together a complete sentence without stuttering, but he usually doesn't pay Parker for his time because he seems to waste so much of it.  Now here he is in a beat up three-piece suit that looks both too big and too small on him at the same time because it’s too short in the arms and legs but baggy everywhere else, and has been here five minutes and only taken one completely useless picture so far.  At least it looks like he tried to comb his hair for once -- _tried_ being the operative word, as it only looks vaguely less like a rat’s nest than normal.  Jameson really wishes he didn’t have to rely on this kid.

Peter’s still not even taking pictures.  He’s murmuring something to Gwen in her ear while she giggles at it.

“What’re you doing?” Jameson yells at him.  “I said take pictures, not socialize!”

“Y--yes, sir,” Peter responds.

“I’m serious! Go! Get to work!”

“Yes, sir,” Peter repeats, kissing Gwen quickly before making his way through the crowd of people, stealing some food from a tray a waiter is holding as he goes.

“Hello, Mr. Jameson,” Gwen says, finally greeting him now that Peter’s gone.  

“Hello again, Gwen,” Jameson answers.  They’ve met before, but he hasn’t seen any of the Stacy children since their father died.  “How have you been?”

“Not great,” Gwen tells him.  Guess he should have expected that.

“Right, right.  Sorry about your father.”

“Thanks,” Gwen responds awkwardly.  Jameson thinks he should probably change the subject.

“So,” he says.  “Didn’t expect you to show up with my photographer.”

“Uh, Peter and I are dating,” Gwen informs him.

“Hm,” Jameson grunts.  To be honest, he can’t see why. Gwen’s a beautiful young lady and Peter...well, Peter has kind of that stretched beanpole look to him.  But beyond that, Gwen’s a classy girl and Peter’s probably on food stamps.  He can’t even imagine how they know each other.

“We go to school together,” Gwen adds, as if she can tell what he’s thinking.  “Science magnet school.”

Jameson tries to think of another way to change the subject or even better, a way to escape to talk to someone else because frankly Gwen and Helen are boring him, but luckily at that moment it’s time for one of Captain Stacy’s co-workers to make a heartfelt speech about him, so Jameson bids the Stacys goodbye to “get a good seat.”

While some police chief Jameson doesn’t know too well drones on about the Captain’s dedication to the cause, Jameson’s thoughts wander to the spider-slayer operation.  It’ll be happening soon...and then soon after that they’ll be hearing about it.  Jameson had a hundred-inch screen set up so the whole party can watch the Daily Bugle’s exclusive live broadcast of the capture and unmasking of Spider-Man.

After the first speech, two other NYPD officers give speeches, and then finally the party returns to its normal state of slightly somber mingling.  Spider-Man’s downfall will definitely liven this party up, Jameson thinks.  

He’s annoyed to see that Gwen and Peter have found each other again, although Peter’s now taking pictures one-handed at least -- the other hand is clasped tightly with Gwen’s.  Harry Osborn is trailing behind them.  

“Take any pictures, Parker?” Jameson demands.  

“Yeah, I uh, I got plenty of--plenty of the--the speakers and some people cried, so I took a lot of those too,” Peter responds.

“Good boy,” Jameson praises, as if Peter is his pet dog.  Despite all the boy’s flaws, he usually takes good pics, even with his crappy camera.  Jameson will have to make sure the kid still has a job once Spider-Man’s not around for him to go chasing after all the time.

Speaking of the devil...the spider-slayer should have been sent out by now.  So, if Alistair Smythe did what he said he could and his robot is able to locate Spider-Man wherever he is, then there should be some good news soon.  Jameson knows the wallcrawler won’t be able to slip away this time.  Jameson’s seen the spider-slayer himself and it’s magnificent.  Extremely powerful and completely indestructible.

At that moment -- just as he’s reminding himself how dangerous the spider-slayer is to anyone who gets in its way -- the spider-slayer crashes through the ceiling.

There is a great deal of screaming from the party guests as everyone runs to get out of the way of the falling debris and the giant eight-foot robot that is lowering itself into the ballroom.

“No,” Jameson mutters, completely stunned.  “Not here.”  The spider-slayer is standing in the middle of the party, scanning the crowd of people that have backed their way to the edges of the room.

“What’s it doing?” Helen screams in his ear.  Well, either the spider-slayer’s gone rogue, or Spider-Man’s in the building.  Jameson casts his eyes to what remains of the ceiling and walls, but doesn’t see Spider-Man clinging anywhere up there.

“Get your camera, Parker,” Jameson barks, before realizing the boy isn’t standing next to him anymore. “Hey! Where’d Parker go?” Jameson demands.  Harry Osborn shrugs, his narrowed eyes staring at the spider-slayer as if guessing who built it.

The spider-slayer suddenly jolts toward the crowd, and the party revives itself in another fit of screaming and yelling.  Jameson is rooted in his spot in complete panic.  He and everyone here may be slaughtered by this thing and it will be all his fault.

The spider-slayer’s taser gun, which is mounted to the top of its massive spider-shaped form, has telescoped out and is now aimed at the front of the crowd.  

Before it can fire, a red and blue blur leaps from somewhere behind him and kicks the spider-slayer in the face, sending it skidding across the floor.

“Hey, party crasher!” Spider-Man calls.  “I don’t see you on the guest list.”

The spider-slayer fires its taser at him and the webslinger dodges it each time by flipping and contorting himself. There’s possibly even more screaming at Spider-Man’s unexpected entrance.  People in black ties and gowns scramble to get out of the way of the hyperactive vigilante.

“WALLCRAWLING MENACE!” Jameson yells. “WHAT IN BLAZES ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

“Hey, picklepuss!” Spider-Man shouts back.  “Love to chat, but I’m a little busy here,” He webs a few of the spider-slayer’s legs together as he says this, but the spider-slayer rips the webbing away and Spider-Man jumps on the robot’s back.

Jameson can feel his face going as red as Spider-Man’s mask with anger.  “Get him!” he shouts to anyone who will listen.  “Room full of cops and none of you brought a damned weapon? Arrest him!”

A few officers draw their guns from inside the jackets of their tuxedos and fire at both Spider-Man and the spider-slayer, but the bullets ricochet off the spider-slayer’s hull and Spider-Man dodges, leaping onto the chandelier and swinging from it.  Spider-Man then takes action by quickly webbing everyone’s guns away from them and storing them on the ceiling.

“You can have those back at the end of class, boys,” he says, before returning his focus to avoiding being struck by the spider-slayer’s powerful legs.  He manages to get behind it and web most of its appendages together.  From there he crawls underneath it and it looks like he’s beginning to disable the robot.  “Hold still for Dr. Spider-Man,” he says as the spider-slayer writhes, trying to escape from all the webbing.  “Hey, is it sacrilegious to catch another spider in your webs?” Spider-Man jokes as he fiddles with the machinery.  “I’m not going to have to go to spider court, am I?”

Jameson’s completely furious.  This was really all the webslinger’s fault!  If he hadn’t been at Jameson’s party in the first place, the spider-slayer wouldn’t have shown up here to capture him! And worse than that, it looks like he’s winning!

But, it turns out he spoke too soon, because in the next second, the spider-slayer breaks free of the webs and begins to lower itself onto the wallcrawler beneath its belly, crushing him.

“Errgh! Watch where you’re sitting!” Spider-Man yells, pushing the enormous robot off of him in a great show of strength.  The spider-slayer nearly goes flying into the crowd.  People run in every direction as the giant metal beast hits the wall, cracking and denting it.  “I’m not paying for that!” Spider-Man informs them as he leaps over their heads.  “Love the skylight, by the way,” he adds, referring to the huge hole the spider-slayer made in the ceiling.  

Spider-Man flips around the room and the spider-slayer jerks in a circle, scanning for where he’s gone.

“Listen, robo,” the vigilante says from somewhere above everyone.  “You’re a terrible dancer.”  Spider-Man swings down.  “Let me teach you the jitterbug!”  With that, Spider-Man punches the robot hard on the head.  It’s not incredibly effective.  “Ow!" Spider-Man yells.  “What are you made of, adamantium?”  

The spider-slayer crawls toward him and fires its taser.  Spider-Man dodges it by clinging to the ceiling.

“Okay, so you don’t want to dance?” Spider-Man asks.  “You could have just said so!” From his position on the ceiling, the webslinger jumps onto the spider-slayer’s back.  He taps the round lens on the head that Smythe had installed to watch the spider-slayer’s progress.  “Is someone spying on me?” he questions, peering into the lens.  “Whoever owns the giant spider robot, you left your lights on!” Spider-Man shouts, before webbing up the camera lens and leaping from the robot’s back to the wall behind it.  

Spider-Man has tried this move before, and it almost worked, Jameson remembers, but apparently so does the spider-slayer, because before the wallcrawler can web the robot’s legs together again, it quickly turns and zaps Spider-Man off the wall with a blast from its taser gun.

“Hey, don’t tase me, bro,” Spider-Man says, picking himself up off the floor.  Clearly he is more resistant to the effects of electricity than a normal human, but not entirely, as Jameson can tell he is shaken.  Another few blasts and he’d probably be out cold.

“Hit him again!” Jameson can’t help but call out to the spider-slayer.

“Aww, I love you too, cutie,” Spider-Man responds, crawling up the wall he has just fallen off of and clinging to the ceiling.  The spider-slayer angles its taser gun upwards and fires at him again.  Spider-Man dodges the first few blasts, but that hit from the taser has slowed him.  He can’t crawl away as fast with no time to recover.  So eventually the slayer hits its mark and knocks the arachnid off the ceiling.

Spider-Man falls ungracefully to the floor in the middle of the empty space the crowd has gathered around.

“Hey, that’s--” Spider-Man tries to say something, but is interrupted by the spider-slayer tasing him again.  And again.  And again.

After five high voltage blasts from the taser, Spider-Man is probably unconscious, but for good measure, a dart gun unpacks itself from the side of the robot and hits Spider-Man with a tranquilizer dart squarely in the thigh.  Spider-Man doesn’t move.

The crowd watches in stunned silence as restraints jut out from the front of the robot like mechanic claws and lock around Spider-Man’s wrists and ankles.  They then retract inward, pulling Spider-Man’s limp form toward the robot.  Spider-Man’s gangly form drags haphazardly across the floor, until he is in the grasp of the spider-slayer’s front pincer, which then clasps shut around Spider-Man’s narrow waist.

Once the wallcrawler is securely in the spider-slayer’s grasp, the robot takes flight, rising up through the hole it had made in the ceiling and zooming off into the night sky.  The fight witnesses turned party guests stand around in confusion for a few minutes after the spiders leave, unsure of what they had just seen occur.  But once Jameson finally processes it, fully realizing that he had just seen with his very eyes the capture of New York City’s biggest menace, he can’t hold it in any longer.

“Yes!” he shouts.  “Yes, yes, yes!”  Jameson punches the air.  “Oh, isn’t this a beautiful night?” Jameson dances around the ballroom in absolute glee while everyone else has their own reactions -- some confusion, a lot of relief that everyone had survived the ordeal.  Many seem to be celebrating the wallcrawler’s capture, although none as enthusiastically as Jameson.  He doesn’t see Peter or Gwen anywhere, but there’s no time to be worried about that right now.  He just hopes wherever Parker is, he had gotten some good pictures of that wonderful event.

 

 

*     *     *

 

A portion of the party guests leave and go home after the fight, but in Jameson’s opinion the party’s just getting started.  In a way he was lucky Spider-Man is a punk party crasher, because Jameson got a front row seat for that embarrassing defeat.  Sure, he’ll have to pay for the damages done to the ballroom, but it’s a small price to pay for a memory that will last a lifetime.

He calls the reporter he has covering the scene at Oscorp and brings him up to speed on all that had happened here, then goes about yelling at his tech guy to get him to get the screen ready to show the Daily Bugle’s live broadcast.

“Jonah, I can’t find Gwen,” Helen says desperately, coming up to him with quite a worried expression on her face.  Jameson sighs.  Why do people always involve him in their problems?

“She’s probably around somewhere,” Jameson tells her absently, checking his phone for updates from this news team.  

“I haven’t seen her since the fight...” Helen’s twisting the strings of her purse into a knot in distress.

“Well, I can’t find Parker either,” Jameson responds.  “Maybe the two of them went off somewhere to make out or rob a liquor store or whatever it is kids like to do these days.”

Helen casts her eyes around the room, looking for either of them, but Jameson honestly doesn’t think she needs to be too worried about it.

“Gwen will turn up somewhere,” Jameson assures her, checking his phone again.  He has one new message from his news crew.

\--It’s time. 

Jameson sucks in a deep breath.  He’s so excited he can barely contain it.

“Attention, attention, everyone,” he calls, hoping he sounds professional and not as giddy as he feels.  “The Daily Bugle’s currently covering a very important news story and I think you all should see it.”  He cues the tech guy to turn on the screen.

“What’s going on, Jonah?” Robbie asks him.  Jameson sighs.  He hadn’t told Robbie about this because even if he is his friend, his city editor is sometimes a little bit sympathetic toward the wallcrawler and Jameson didn’t want that getting in the way, but he’s going to find out anyway.

“Just following up on that spider robot story,” Jameson tells him.

The screen flickers on and shows a Daily Bugle reporter talking into a microphone in front of the door to a restricted access lab at Oscorp.  The scrolling headline reads “SPIDER-MAN CAPTURED -- IN CUSTODY AT OSCORP.”

“New York City’s only wallcrawling vigilante has been restrained and is just beyond this door,” Eddie Brock is saying.  “We’ll soon get a closer look, but first, how did this happen and what does Oscorp have to do with it?  Well, our sources tell us that a massive robot built by Oscorp invaded the ballroom of a Manhattan hotel where a party in commemoration of Captain George Stacy of the NYPD was taking place...”

As Brock recounts the evening’s events leading up to now, Robbie mutters to Jameson,  “You planned this, didn’t you?”  It’s an accusatory statement, but Jameson and Robbie have known each other long enough that Jameson knows Robbie will always put up with him even if he goes behind his back and pulls stuff like this.

“Of course I did, and I’m going to be a hero for it,” Jameson tells him.  Robbie sighs, and they both turn their attention back to the screen, because Brock has finished his rundown of everything that had happened at the party and is now delivering more information on the situation at Oscorp.

“Authorities say Spider-Man has been sedated, but will be conscious soon,” Brock reports.  “As for what will happen to him after he is unmasked in a few minutes, he will be held at Oscorp until his trial.  I’m told scientists at Oscorp wish to study his unique physiology.”

At that moment, one of said scientists pokes her head through the door behind Brock.

“He’s awake,” she says, glancing self-consciously at the cameras and adjusting her glasses.  “You can come in now, but please don’t touch anything and don’t come too close.”

“This is the moment you’ve been waiting for, viewers,” Brock speaks excitedly into the microphone.  “Just remember, you saw it here, on the Daily Bugle.”

The cameras follow Brock and the scientist through the door and into the Oscorp lab.  Inside, Spider-Man is clearly visible in the middle of the room, strung up in an interesting contraption.  It looks like a lab table that he is lying on, but its made of sturdier metal and bolted to the floor.  Spider-Man’s hands and feet are completely encased in metal attachments on the table and there are also thick bands of metal strapped around his arms, legs, waist, chest, and collared around his neck.  The only part of the wallcrawler that he seems to be able to move is his head, which is angled toward the cameras as he watches the news crew file in.

“Be sure to film my good side, guys,” he jokes, still sounding a bit groggy from the drugs.  Brock ignores Spider-Man’s comment and continues to do his job.  

“For those of you just tuning in, we’re here at Oscorp where we have Spider-Man in captivity and are about to unmask him with all of America watching.”

“That’s not very fair,” Spider-Man interjects.  “I haven’t been to hair and makeup yet.  How would you like that, glossy gus?”

Brock unconsciously brushes his hand quickly over his perfectly combed hair, and face that’s been made up to look like naturally clear skin, before resigning himself once more to ignoring Spider-Man and continues.

“Spider-Man has been a wanted man for over a year now, for his activities as a vigilante and connections to the murder of Captain George Stacy.”  

Brock steps a bit closer toward the scientist he came in with.  The camera follows him, while still keeping Spider-Man in the frame -- whose head is now looking slightly upwards as if he is rolling his eyes at such accusations.

“Dr. Warren,” Brock says.  “Can you tell us a little about what you know about Spider-Man so far?”

“Well,” says Dr. Warren, adjusting her glasses again.  “We know he is extremely dangerous, which is why we have taken certain precautions to keep him restrained here at Oscorp.”

“Could he possibly escape from his restraints?” Brock asks in a slightly worried tone, glancing furtively at Spider-Man.

“It is extremely unlikely that he could,” Dr. Warren assures him.  “The restraints are made out of a vibranium alloy.  Plus, Spider-Man should still be feeling the effects of the drugs administered to him at the time of his capture, although he did recover from the dosage much more quickly than a normal human.  That’s just part of his abnormal physiology we still know very little about and hope to explore during the coming weeks.”  Dr. Warren talks faster as she becomes more excited and confident.  “He is a very unique specimen,” she continues.

“Great, I’ve been demoted from “menace” to “specimen”.” Spider-Man deadpans.

“What else can you tell us about him?” Brock once again pretends he hadn’t heard the webslinger’s contribution.

“We know he has many unique abilities that have yet to be understood,” Dr. Warren informs him.  “Including the ability to climb on walls and ceilings and enhanced strength and speed...”

“Why don’t you let me out of these restraints and I’ll give you all a very special demonstration of my “unique abilities”?” Spider-Man suggests.

“So, about the robot used to capture Spider-Man,” Brock says, trying to keep the ball rolling.  “Was it built for that same purpose?”

“Yes, it was,” Dr. Warren answers.  “But Alistair over there could probably tell you more about it.  He’s the one who designed it.”

“Hey, would you mind coming over here and answering a few questions about that incredible robot of yours?” Brock calls across the room.

“Certainly,” Alistair replies, entering the frame of the camera while Dr. Warren steps to the background and checks Spider-Man’s  restraints.  “What do you want to know?”

“What did you have in mind when you designed it?”

“Well, I challenged myself to build a robot that would--”

“Hey, you’re Alistair Smythe,” Spider-Man suddenly interrupts.

“Yes, I am,” Alistair says in surprise.

“Dr. Smythe,” Brock continues, determined to ignore Spider-Man,” What was the most challenging part of--”

“You wrote those papers on nanobot technology in biochemistry applications,” Spider-Man interrupts again.

“Yes, I did,” Alistair responds in even greater surprise.”

“I thought they were incredible,” Spider-Man tells him.

“Thank you,” says Alistair, actually sounding flattered.

“I wanted to ask you what you thought about using nanobots to--”

“This isn’t _your_ interview, Spider-Man.”  It’s Brock’s turn to interrupt.

“It’s not?” Spider-Man replies sarcastically.  “Jeez, that’s too bad.  I can tell a really funny anecdote about that one time I didn’t kill Captain Stacy.”

“Okay, that’s enough out of you,” Brock tells him.

“I beg to disagree, pretty boy,” Spider-Man says.  “You can’t keep me here.”

“Actually, we can.  You’re a dangerous criminal.”

“I’m actually really cuddly and wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Spider-Man tries.  “Okay, forget that.  I’m still innocent until proven guilty.”   

“Dr. Smythe,” Brock perseveres, turning away from Spider-Man.  “How have you--”

“Hey, is this live?” Spider-Man asks.  “Can you say fuck on this channel?”

Brock stares at him.  Jameson facepalms.  

“Asshole!” Spider-Man yells. This time the sensor manages to beep away the end of the word.  “Shit!” after that the sensor starts beeping out everything Spider-Man says.  Luckily his mouth isn’t visible so it’s not possible to read his lips.

“Can’t we gag him or something?” Brock says desperately.

“Sure, but it’s going to be very tricky to get this pesky mask off me if I have a muzzle on!” Spider-Man responds.

“Okay, folks, we’ll be right back with the unmasking of Spider-Man after a word from our sponsors,” Brock quickly segways.  

“Really, you’re going to commercial?” Spider-Man asks in humored disbelief.  “Why don’t you just--”

But the rest of that sentence is interrupted by an ad for 5 Gum. The entire ballroom, which had been collectively focused on the screen in intense anticipation, groans in frustration.

“Come on, Brock,” Jameson mutters angrily.  “Get it together.”  His fingers mash the buttons of his phone as he calls his lead reporter.

“Mr. Jameson, I--” Brock answers his cell warily.

“Brock!” Jameson backs into the speaker.  “You’re letting that wallcrawling menace walk all over you!  You’re dawdling and delaying!  You are disgracing the Daily Bugle!” Jameson roars.  “Unmask that spider-freak or you’re fired!”

“But Mr. Jameson, how do I--” Brock begins, but Jameson doesn’t wait around for Brock to finish whining to him, ending the call in the middle of his words.

A few commercials later, and the live broadcast is back.  Whatever Brock or Dr. Warren or Dr. Smythe or whoever had said or done to Spider-Man during the commercial break, it seems to have calmed him down.  Jameson can tell because he isn’t running his yapper off anymore, but remaining quiet for once while Brock gives the context for the situation once more for new viewers.   He looks a bit dazed as he stares at the ceiling.  Probably drugged again, Jameson  guesses.

“And now, it’s time at last to remove Spider-Man’s mask.”  Brock steps carefully toward the webslinger.  “Spider-Man,” he says.  “Anything you have to say to America?”  He holds the microphone out.  Spider-Man looks into the camera.

“Hi Mom,” he says.  Brock chuckles nervously.  

“Okay,” he says.  “Well, this is a very exciting moment for everyone in New York City...”

“Unmask him already!” Harry Osborn shouts, and is met with laughter and muttering of agreement from nearly everyone in the ballroom.

“Come on, Brock” Jameson seethes.  “Don’t let me down now...”

“Now then,” Brock continues.  “Let’s see what you look like...”

But as Brock begins reaching toward Spider-Man’s mask, the screen suddenly goes black as the Oscorp lab is plunged into darkness.”

“Hey!” Jameson yells.  “What the hell’s going on?”

“What--the lights?” Brock can be heard muttering.  “Uh, we’re experiencing some technical difficulties folks,” he says, and then quietly, “Should we go to commercial--?”

They don’t, as it happens, ever make it to commercial.  There’s a few awkward moments of banging around and footsteps, during which Jameson can virtually _feel_ the ratings dropping, and then the lights go back on again, and the Oscorp lab comes back into view -- with one small difference.

“Where’d Spider-Man go?” Brock shouts.

“Where all little Spider-Men go in times of crisis,” Spider-Man says.  “Higher ground!”  The camera pans upwards until Spider-Man can be seen hanging upside down from the ceiling.  “Surprise!” he yells, waving cheerfully.

“No,” Jameson whispers in absolute horror.  “He got away -- again!”

“That’s right, JJ,” Spider-Man says happily, as if he can hear Jameson right through the screen.  “I’m a slippery one alrighty.  The spectacular slippery Spider-Man.  Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Get down here, wallcrawler!” Brock shouts, nearly doing the worst thing he could have and losing his temper on national television.

“Shame I don’t fall as easily as your ratings, huh?” Spider-Man taunts.  “I mean, I’d love to come down there but I think my ass looks really good on camera from this angle.  What do you think?”  Spider-Man scampers along the ceiling.

At this point Brock really does lose it, sputtering out orders angrily.  “Get him! He’s getting away!  Get the spider-slayer!  Do something!”  The scientists in the room scramble to gain control of the situation.  

“Spider-slayer?  Is that what you call that thing?” Spider-Man asks.  “Do you have a spider-watcher to go with it?”  He swings down in front of the cameras and there’s the sounds of yelling and the camera goes crooked and Brock runs away.  “Oh come on, no Buffy fans here?” Spider-Man questions as he makes his escape.

The lab divulges into utter chaos, and from the viewer’s standpoint, it’s hard to tell what’s happening.  Jameson can hear that the spider-slayer’s been fired up and Spider-Man is now fighting it again.  He can hear a girl yelling and the sound of the lab being trashed by the robot and the arachnid.

Jameson’s basically hoping for spontaneous combustion at this point.  Why the network hasn’t gone to commercial or had someone at the studio take over yet is beyond him.  He’s too completely horrified to move a muscle.  When he hears the sound of an explosion he almost thinks he has gotten his wish, but then he realizes it’s just from the tv.   

The camera’s been knocked over now, but Jameson can see fire spreading from the explosion.  A few of the cops rush out of the ballroom at this point, surmising that they’ll be needed on the scene soon enough.  Jameson doesn’t know why they hadn’t done that the second the wallcrawler had escaped.  If he’s being honest though, he doesn’t know if that would have helped anything.  Seeing how quickly the situation had turned into complete chaos since the webslinger had broken out of his bonds.    

As far as Jameson is concerned, that is just proof of how much of a menace Spider-Man is, and how disaster follows him everywhere he goes.  Jameson only had to look around the ballroom for more evidence of that.  New York City would be so much safer with Spider-Man off the streets.

The sound of sirens can now be heard from the tv.  Jameson can’t hear any more people inside the lab, so he guesses that means everyone had either gotten out of there, or had been caught in the explosion.  

Jameson finds out later that Spider-Man had destroyed the wall of the Oscorp Tower getting everyone out of there safely.  All except Alistair Smythe, who had unfortunately been trapped under the spider-slayer.  He’s put in the hospital under intensive care and will most likely live, but the medical effects he will suffer are not clear yet.

As for Jameson, he’s in a lot of hot water for the disaster that broadcast had been, but manages to come away from it relatively unscathed by blaming the whole thing on Spider-Man -- obviously.  He fired Brock, as promised, and goes back to his work of making damn sure the gentle people of New York City get the information they deserve -- the dangers of Spider-Man included.

They repair the damages at Oscorp and spider-slayer was destroyed in the explosion -- a failed experiment never to be attempted again.  At least, that’s the official story.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Eight Months Later

Jameson waits impatiently in his office.  Peter Parker was supposed to be here forty-five minutes ago with pictures for tomorrow’s morning edition.  The boy’s notoriously late, yet he’s rarely let Jameson down entirely.  

“Parker here yet, Miss Brant?” Jameson barks, sticking his head through his office door into the newsroom.  Betty Brant shakes her head.

“No, Mr. Jameson,” she says.  “I’ll keep you updated.”  Jameson sighs and is about to go back into office, but is stopped by an unexpected visitor.  

“Brock!” he yells.  “What are you doing here? Didn’t I fire you months ago?  I did!  I remember it!  How did you even get up here?”

Jameson only asks because they’re on the top floor of the Daily Bugle building and only employees are supposed to have access.  If Brock could get up here, anyone could.  And that’s a safety issue.

“Mr. Jameson, I just want to talk to you for a minute,” Brock insists, annoyingly not answering any of Jameson’s questions.  Jameson groans.

“You have exactly sixty seconds,” he snaps.  “Get in here!”  He allows Brock to follow him into his office.  Unemployment has not suited Eddie Brock well.  He looks tired and frustrated, his shirt and tie are crumpled, and his hair is shaggy.  “What do you want?” Jameson asks him unsympathetically, sitting down in the chair behind his desk and sliding a few papers forward to read while he talks to Brock.  The blundering ex-reporter only deserves _part_ of his attention.

“I want another chance, Mr. Jameson,” Brock pleads.

“ANOTHER CHANCE?” Jameson explodes.  “ You nearly ruined me, Brock!  Don’t you understand that?  Why in hell’s name should I give you another chance?”

“If that wallcrawler hadn’t--”

“Brock, I hate Spider-Man as much as anyone,” Jameson interrupts.  “But blaming your own mistakes on the guy ain’t gonna cut it.  Any competent reporter could have done that job and done it right.  Spider-Man may be a freak of nature with a superiority complex, but he was trussed up like a Christmas present for you!  All you had to do was slip the mask off his head!  How damn hard can that be?”

“But--”

“No, Brock, you’re finished!  You hear me?  Finished!”

“But--”

“GET OUT!” Jameson roars.  “Out, out, out!”

Brock trips over himself scampering out of Jameson’s office. Jameson follows him out, wanting to check again if Peter is here yet with those pictures.

“Heard from Parker yet?” he asks Betty.

“No, Mr. Jameson,” Betty responds.  “But you have incoming call from Dr. Smythe.”

“Smythe?” Jameson repeats, intrigued.  He hasn’t heard from the Oscorp scientist in months.  He wonders what the guy could want with him after all this time.  “Okay, send it through,” Jameson tells Betty, going back into his office to answer the call.

“Jameson here.”

“Ah, Mr. Jameson,” Alistair says.  “I believe I have something here that would interest you.”

“Uh,” says Jameson bluntly.  “What is it?”

“It’s Spider-Man.”

Jameson blinks. “I--what do you mean you have Spider-Man?”

“I captured him.”

“How?”

Alistair pauses.  “All you need to know is that I did,” he says finally.  “If you would like to see him -- to see who he is under his mask, meet me here within the hour.”

Jameson’s heart is beating fast.  “Where are you?” he asks.  “Oscorp?”

“No.  I will email you the address and directions right now,” Alistair tells him.  “Come alone.  No reporters.”  With that, there is a click as Alistair ends the call without further explanation.

Jameson can feel his heartbeat in his throat.  There had been something different about Alistair -- something not quite right.  Jameson is a little suspicious.  Still, he doesn’t really have a reason not to trust Alistair, other than that he is a naturally distrusting man.  Always has been.  But he knows he has to go.  There is no way he can pass up an opportunity like this.

His mind made up, Jameson hastily prints the directions from his email and puts on his coat, stuffing the directions into his coat pocket.  He has  just has one more thing to do before he leaves.

“Parker here yet?” he barks, exiting his office.

“No, Mr. Jameson,” Betty sighs.  Jameson checks his watch.  It’s almost one a.m.  A full hour after Peter had said he’d be here.  

“If he doesn’t get here by printing time, he’s fired,” Jameson orders.  “I’m going out,” he adds, before strolling through the newsroom to the elevators on the other side.

 

 

*     *     *

 

The place Alistair emailed directions to is not Oscorp, but it’s not far from it.  It’s a private lab in lower Manhattan, but Jameson doesn’t know who owns it.  When he asks for Dr. Smythe at the front desk, he is show directly to his lab, no questions asked.  Jameson decides to take a page from their book and get right down to business as well.

“Okay, Smythe, where is he?” he asks upon entering the lab.  

“Aren’t you even going to say hello?” a voice questions.  At first Jameson doesn’t see anything, but then he looks down.  Oh.  Alistair is sitting comfortably in a wheelchair.

“Paralyzed from the waist down,” Alistair supplies, smiling coolly.

“Oh.  I, uh...” Jameson doesn’t know how to respond.  “I’m sorry to hear that?” he tries.

“You heard, of course, about the accident.”  It’s not a question.  “You were involved in a way, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess I just didn’t--”

“Consider the consequences?”  Alistair raises his eyebrows.

“Well--”

“Forget it,” the scientist interrupts, waving his hand.  “Now, I do believe I promised you Spider-Man.”

“He’s really here then?” Jameson starts to get excited again.

“Of course,” Alistair says.  “I am a man of my word.  Follow me.”

Alistair wheels slowly into the next room and Jameson follows him.  Spider-Man is being kept near the back of the lab, in a contraption identical to the one he’d been in before.  Jameson wonders whether Alistair had built a new one or whether old one had survived the explosion and he’d had it brought over.  Jameson doesn’t know exactly what a vibranium alloy is, but it sounds expensive and strong.

Spider-Man is laying on the contraption, completely bound, and still masked with his head lolled to the side, like he might be sleeping or just resting.

“I decided to give you the honors or unmasking him,” Alistair says as they approach.  Spider-Man picks his head up at the sound and looks over at them.

“Picklepuss!” he exclaims.  “Exactly the guy I wanted to see right now!  How did you know, Alistair old pal?”

“Shut up, wallcrawler,” Alistair orders.  “I’ve heard enough of your insane chattering.”

“Jeez, pot, that’s not a very nice thing to say about your friend, the kettle,” Spider-Man responds.

Jameson doesn’t know what Spider-Man is even blabbering on about, but he doesn’t care.  He wants to see how brave the webslinger is without that ridiculous mask over his head.  He begins reaching hungrily toward it, full of anticipation for the very second he yanks it off of Spider-Man’s head.

“Hey, when was the last time you washed your hands?” Spider-Man questions as Jameson tries to reach for the edge of the mask.

However, before he can, a robot arm descends down and clasps a handcuff around his wrist, another robot arm doing the same to Spider-Man with the other end of the handcuffs.

“What the hell?” Jameson demands, trying to pull his arm away but finding it well and truly cuffed to Spider-Man’s.

“Hmm, it’s cute,” Spider-Man says, examining his handcuff.  “But it doesn’t go with my outfit.  Do you have anything in red and blue?”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Smythe?” Jameson yells.  Of course, he’s not really doing anything.  He’s sitting there in his wheelchair with a creepy smile on his face while his robots carry out his orders for him.

“I am getting my revenge,” Alistair informs him.  “Both you and Spider-Man are responsible for what happened to me.  You two, along with Norman Osborn, Eddie Brock, and Gwen Stacy.  My new spider-slayers will take care of those three for me.  As for you two, the explosive on those handcuffs is rigged to go off in one hour.  Don’t hold out for coming away from it with mere paralysis as I did.  It will be a much bigger explosion than the one I survived.”

Jameson can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Smythe...don’t do this,” he pleads.  “Let’s talk about it.”

“Forget it, Jameson.  He’s cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs,” Spider-Man says.  Jameson hates to agree with the wallcrawler, but indeed Alistair does not seem to be all there anymore.  

“It’s too late,” he’s saying.  “The spider-slayers have already been sent out.  My revenge is in the hands of my beautiful machines now.”  Alistair begins rolling himself out of the room.  “Now all that’s left to do is get out of here before I’m involved in _another_ lab explosion...”  He smiles meaningfully at Spider-Man, Jameson, and the explosive rigged handcuffs linking the two of them together, before disappearing through the door.

“Get this damned thing off of me!” Jameson roars, yanking on the handcuffs as much as he can without hurting himself.

“You want a trial separation already?” Spider-Man jokes.  “I understand, but I’m hurt.”

Jameson glares daggers into Spider-Man.  They’re going to be blown to smithereens in one hour and he’s making _wisecracks_ about it!

“Listen here, you wallcrawling weasel,” Jameson snaps.  “If we don’t get out of this mess, it’s all on you, got me?”

“If we don’t get out of this mess, we’ll be dead,” Spider-Man corrects.  “But yeah, I “got you,” babe.”

“Long as we’re clear,” Jameson grunts, examining their situation.  Spider-Man’s still strapped down and Jameson’s still handcuffed to Spider-Man, so that means they’re both stuck there until they break out of one or the other. “You escaped from this thing once, you can do it again,” Jameson tells the webslinger.  Spider-Man coughs.

“I might have -- erm, had a little outside assistance last time,” he says.

“Who?” Jameson demands to know.

“Not of import,” says Spider-Man dismissively.  “The point it, can’t do it alone.”

“Then what do we do?” Jameson questions.  Spider-Man shrugs as much as his bonds will allow.

“Animals caught in traps chew through their own limbs,” he informs Jameson.  “You could try that.”

“Will you be serious for one damn second?” Jameson yells.

“You didn’t say please,” Spider-Man responds.  “Okay, you’re going to have to be my lovely assistant this time.  The mustache is going to be somewhat of a problem, but we can work around that.”

“What in blazes are you talking about?”

Spider-Man sighs.  “You see that control panel?”

Jameson looks around, finally spotting a switch board hooked up to a computer behind Spider-Man.  “Yeah.”

“Can you reach it?”

“Hold on a second,” says Jameson, as he realizes what Spider-Man wants him to do.  “If I help you escape, then I’m--”

“Helping me escape, yes,” Spider-Man finishes.  “Neato how that works, innit?”

James pauses, torn between letting this menace loose on the streets again and dying in a horrible explosion.  

“Can you reach it?” Spider-Man asks again.

“Yeah, yeah, I can reach it,” Jameson grumbles.  “What am I supposed to do?”

“There should be a button that says “security.”  Press that, and then enter the code “7736237”.”

Spider-Man talks Jameson through the process, which is very complicated and involves entering a lot of codes, and then finally his restraints snap open and he is free from everything except the Daily Bugle publisher linked to his arm.

“I hate that thing,” Spider-Man says, stepping down from the table.  “So much.”

“How is it that you know exactly how to get yourself out of that blamed contraption?” Jameson questions.

“Saw it on tv,” Spider-Man responds sarcastically.  “Alrighty, well I guess we can check that off the to-do list,” he says.  “What’s next?”

“Now we get out of the damn handcuffs before I have to spend another godforsaken minute with you,” Jameson supplies.

Spider-Man inspects the handcuffs and the explosive in the middle.  It looks to Jameson like a kitchen timer; it’s about the same size and shape, and even has the same digital clock on the front, counting down from fifty-seven minutes.

“No can do, sugar lips,” Spider-Man says finally.  “I’m not sure exactly what will happen if the handcuffs are broken, but it’s definitely something not good.  We’re both too young and pretty to die playing Russian Roulette, aren’t we?”

“What then?” Jameson growls, almost doubting that whatever happens when the handcuffs are broken could be worse than being cuffed to motormouth here for another fifty-six minutes.

“Well, I’ve seen enough of this place, haven’t you?” Spider-Man asks, pulling Jameson along through the lab.  Jameson yelps, barely able to keep up with the arachnid’s speedy pace.  

“Will you hold still for a minute?” Jameson asks desperately.  

“I think I’ve held still long enough, don’t you think?” Spider-Man responds.  “Besides, now that I’ve got a dance partner, I’m ready to tango!”

Spider-Man pulls him quickly to the door to the lab and peeks out the door into the hallway.  He obviously sees that the coast is clear because he doesn’t wait around before pulling Jameson into the hallway.  Jameson think they’re heading toward the elevator, but instead the webslinger yanks them through the fire escape to the stairwell and climbs up instead of down.

“Come on, step lively now,” Spider-Man says to him.  “Don’t dawdle or talk to your neighbor.”

Jameson would respond to that, but he’s out of breath already from all the running and climbing stairs.  He’d like so much to stop or slow down, but Spider-Man’s much stronger than him and he’s pulling him along.  This is the absolute worst thing that could ever happen to him, Jameson decides.  Finally at the top of the stairs Spider-Man pulls them through the roof access door.  Jameson gasps at the cool fresh night air, letting it fill his burning lungs.

“Jeez, that was easier to escape than I thought it would be,” Spider-Man comments.  “They just don’t make supervillain lairs like they used to.”

“Private lab. Not a lot of security,” Jameson coughs.

“Guess so,” Spider-Man shrugs.  “Anywho, we’d better get going or we’ll miss all the fun.”

“Go where?” Jameson demands, looking around the roof.

“Our buddy Smythe sent spider-slayers after Osborn, Brock, and Gwen Stacy,” Spider-Man reminds him.  “Do you know where any of them might be?”

“Brock.  He was at the Bugle,” Jameson remembers.  

“Then that’s where we’ll go first,” Spider-Man decides, adjusting something on his wrist.  

“You actually want to go looking for the spider-slayers?” Jameson asks in disbelief.

“Hey, they always come looking for me,” Spider-Man replies.  “I figure it’s their turn to hide, my turn to seek.”

“Well, I’m going to have no part of that,” Jameson tells him, pulling out his phone.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Spider-Man questions.

“Calling for help,” Jameson grunts.

“If you call the cops, they’ll just try to arrest me,” Spider-Man states.

“Yeah, what do I care?” Jameson asks.  “And hey, you’re already handcuffed to _me_ , it’ll be easier for them.”

“Or I have a hostage that can’t get away from me,” Spider-Man says, shaking his head.

“That so?” Jameson asks, beginning to dial. “Well we’ll just -- HEY!” he shouts, as a gloved hand snatches the phone from him.  Before Jameson can stop him, Spider-Man tosses his phone off the roof.  “WHAT IN BLAZES DID YOU DO THAT FOR?” Jameson demands wildly.  “YOU CAN’T GO AROUND THROWING PERSONAL PROPERTY OFF OF ROOFTOPS!  I’LL BE SENDING YOU THE BILL FOR THAT, WALLCRAWLER!”

“Look, flat-top,” Spider-Man says, ignoring his rant.  “We’re in a bit of a time crunch here.  T-minus fifty one minutes until our ultimate doom.”

“Well what if I told you I’m not coming along for your insane thrillride?” Jameson asks.  “What if I told you I’m just going to sit here until help arrives?”

With that Jameson really does sit down -- right on the rooftop.  His arm is still extended upwards, to meet with the arm of the unbudgeable Spider-Man which it is still attached to, but other that that he plans on making himself comfortable.

“Listen, prickly,” Spider-Man says, actually sounding peeved for once.  “I have to save all those people, and I have to do it with 180 pounds of dead weight hanging from my arm.  So if you don’t want to come, that’s just too bad.”

And then, in an unforeseen turn of events, Spider-Man picks up Jameson like he weighs absolutely nothing and tucks him under his arm.  He then begins running toward the edge of the rooftop... That’s when Jameson realizes he’s insane!  They must by forty stories up!

“Put me down down, you maniac!” Jameson shouts.  But Spider-Man doesn’t.  Nor does he slow down at all.  He runs right to the edge and jumps off.  Jameson _screams_ as they go into a freefall.  

“Hold on tight! This is a lot harder one-handed!” Spider-Man yells, shooting out a thin strand of webbing and swinging from it.  When he reaches the arc of his swing, he lets go and they begin to drop again as Spider-Man shoots out another web.  He repeats the process while Jameson screws his eyes shut and hopes for it all to end.  

Luckily, traveling that high up at that speed makes getting from one place to another take no time at all.  Jameson breathes out a sigh of relief as Spider-Man lands on the roof of the Daily Bugle building and sets Jameson down on his feet. However, Jameson’s shaking too badly and his legs give out from under him, causing him to fall on his hands and knees.  

“Jeez,” says Spider-Man, crouching down next to him.  “Maybe I should have brought you a barf bag?”

“I’m fine, wallcrawler,” Jameson growls.  “Give me some space.”

“You know me, chronic worrier,” Spider-Man jokes, but does back up as much as he can with them still being handcuffed together.  “Speaking of,” he adds, looking over the edge of the roof to the street below.  “Where’s little Eddie...?”

“Beats me,” says Jameson.  “I kicked him out of my office half an hour ago.  Maybe he’s gone home by now.”

“No, he hasn’t...” Spider-Man says slowly.

“How do you know?” Jameson demands, getting to his feet.

“Trade secret,” Spider-Man responds.

And sure enough, within seconds, the sound of screaming can be heard below as a new and improved spider-slayer makes its way through the street.  

“Told ya,” Spider-Man mocks.  “Okay, are you ready?”

“Hold on a blamed moment,” Jameson grumbles.  “You’re not going down there to fight that thing with me--”

“Hanging around like a bad head cold?” Spider-Man finishes.  “Yeah, I am.  I have to.”

“Aha!” says Jameson.  “Wait’ll I write in the Bugle how a self-proclaimed “hero” carelessly puts innocent human lives in danger!  You probably planned this, didn’t you?”

“Yep, you caught me.  I’m in cahoots with the spider-slayers.  And me and Darth Vader are having tea next Wednesday,” Spider-Man responds sarcastically.  “Look, picklepuss, I don’t want to put my favorite publisher in danger, but what choice do I have?  Brock’ll stand no chance against smilin’ Smythe’s death robot.”

“Brock tried to unmask you,” Jameson points out.

“Yeah, well, you put him up to it,” Spider-Man counters.  “Besides, I can’t just let a man I barely know die!  He could be my soulmate!”  the wallcrawler jokes.  He leans over the edge of the roof, feet curled under him and sticking to the side.  “Okay.  I see Brock,” he says.

“Where?” Jameson asks in frustration.  He doesn’t see anything.

“Behind that trashcan,” Spider-Man informs him.  “Jeez, okay. How are we going to do this?  Okay, I guess like this.”  Spider-Man scoops up Jameson and tosses him on his back like a piggyback ride. “Comfy?” he asks, and Jameson has just enough time to wrap his arms tightly around the webslinger’s neck before he jumps off the building again -- freefalling almost all the way down to the ground, shooting out a webline to catch himself only mere feet before he hits the ground behind a scared looking Eddie Brock hiding behind a trashcan.

“You no-good webheaded weirdo!” Jameson shouts.  “You almost killed me!”

“Mr. Jameson?” Brock says, turning around.  “Spider-Man?” he adds in surprise.

“Brock,” Jameson barks, still miffed at his former employee, and now embarrassed by his current predicament -- handcuffed to the wallcrawler and now riding piggyback. “Spider-Man is--”

“The greatest guy you’ve ever met, right?” Spider-Man interrupts.  “Jeez, look at that, we’re already finishing each other’s sentences!  Don’t we make a cute couple?”

Jameson groans.

“Sorry we don’t have time to chat, Brocky,” Spider-man continues. “We’re looking to make it a threesome and that handsome spider-slayer over there suits our purposes just fine.”  Spider-Man leaps over Brock’s head with Jameson still clinging on.

‘’It’s after me!” Brock yells as the wallcrawler hurries toward the rampaging robot.

“Get somewhere safe!” Spider-Man calls.  “Like, not here!”  The webslinger jumps and lands on the spider-slayer’s back.  “Tag! You’re it!” he yells.  

The spider-slayer pays him no attention and goes about scanning the people around it, finally focusing in on Brock and heading toward him.  

“Uh, uh, uh,” Spider-Man says.  “Eddie doesn’t want to play right now.”  He jumps off of the robot -- causing Jameson to yell loudly -- and lands on the street behind it.  From there he shoot out a web that attaches to the right side of the robot.  Spider-Man grabs the webline with both hands and tugs, getting the robot to swerve around and face him. “Over here, robo,” Spider-Man calls.  “Look, I’m so much more fun that Eddie over there.  Taller and younger too!”  Spider-Man webs a few of the spider-slayers legs together.  “Here, have some webs,” he says.

The spider-slayer seems to decide finally that it needs to take out Spider-Man before getting to Brock.  It fires its taser a few times in the wallcrawler’s direction.  Spider-Man ducks, but he’s not as speedy with Jameson on his back and they’re almost hit.  Jameson yelps.  Spider-Man sprays some more webs at the robot, which only seems to serve to “anger” it, as it then fires its taser more rapidly.

“Oh, you don’t like webs, huh?” Spider-Man asks, as he webs the robot more, particularly in the taser area.  “Tsk, tsk, and you call yourself a spider.” With the spider-slayer partially immobilized, Spider-Man leaps once more onto the top of it, Jameson crying out in panic as he does.  “Buddy, you’re a disgrace to spider-kind,” the webslinger says.  “Giving the rest of us a bad name.”  Spider-Man grabs hold of the webbed up taser and rips it out of its socket.  “You can have this back when you learn to behave,” he says, smashing it on the ground.

But this time the spider-slayer has managed to rip most of its legs free from the webs.   It gives a lurch and Spider-Man jumps high into the air -- Jameson giving a shrill cry as he almost falls off -- and lands in a crouched position behind it.  

“Be careful!” Jameson roars.

“Do _you_ want to do the fighting and _I’ll_ scream like a little girl for a while?” Spider-Man asks him.

Jameson grumbles and wraps his legs more tightly around the wallcrawler’s waist. Spider-Man  starts replacing the webbing the slayer has torn off, but the robot realizes what he’s doing and strikes its legs out at him.  Spider-Man dodges, but with the bulkiness of his passenger, he’s not fast enough and the spider-slayer manages to nick his arm with its sharp leg.

“Okay, that hurt,” Spider-Man says, although he doesn’t even seem distressed about it.  “But you know what?  I can can-can too!”  The webslinger kicks the robot in the face.  “Yeah!  How do you like that?” the arachnid asks triumphantly as the robot stumbles, disoriented from his attack.  “And now for his next trick, the amazing Spider-Man will disable the robot -- with one hand.”

Spider-Man quickly webs up the remaining legs and ducks under the spider-slayer, reaching up with his free hand to fiddle with the mechanics under there.  Jameson looks up, seeing complicated circuitry he wouldn’t know the first thing about what to do with, but the wallcrawler is working quickly like he could do this in his sleep.

“Brock, you might want to get out of here,” Spider-Man calls over his shoulder.  Jameson looks over and sees that instead of running for his life, Brock is -- he can’t believe it -- taking pictures.  

“BROCK YOU BUMBLING DIMWIT!” Jameson explodes.  At that moment the spider-slayer rips free of the webs and tries to crush the people beneath it.  However, Spider-Man crawls away with Jameson clinging tightly seconds before they are squished like bugs under a shoe.

“Nuts! I was almost done!”  Spider-Man says.  “Okay, no lollipop for you then.”  The spider-slayer begins scuttling towards Brock, who yelps and almost drops his camera.

Spider-Man sighs.  “What did I say about Brock?” he asks.  “Talk about a one-track mind!”  The arachnid shoots a web at the streetlight and pulls it like a slingshot, grabbing onto it so that they go flying, and Jameson screams again.  

They land in front of the spider-slayer -- in between the robot and defenseless ex-reporter.  Brock snaps another picture.  “Not a good time, Brock!” Spider-Man yells, as the spider-slayer whips its legs at him again.  Brock backs away, but Spider-Man can’t duck this time or it will hit Brock.  So, instead he catches the leg in a web and jumps forward, pulling the metal appendage with him until it bends backwards and then finally snaps off.

“Oops? Was that supposed to come off?” Spider-Man jokes, tossing the leg away.  The spider-slayer turns away from Brock again and goes after him.  “Okay, don’t panic” he says as he jumps away from it.  “I’m sure we can glue that back on somehow...”  

The robot staggers forward and lashes out at him again.  Spider-Man ducks under it.

“What are you so mad for?”  he asks.  “You have seven more of those!”

The spider-slayer continues to strike at Spider-Man, and by extension, Jameson.  Spider-Man manages to dodge each time, but just barely.  A few times he very nearly gets hit again by the sharp edges of the spider-slayer’s remaining legs.

“Okay, you do know that whole eye-for-an-eye, arm-for-an-arm thing is a load of crap, right?” Spider-Man quips, finally managing to evade the slayer’s flailing long enough to get some more webs around it’s appendages, binding them together.  The wallcrawler scampers back under the spider-slayer, continuing what he had started.  It’s a tense couple of moments as the robot wriggles in the webs, trying to break free, while Spider-man’s hands move lighting fast, messing with the machinery. Finally, the spider-slayer audibly powers down, ceasing all movement and other signs of life as it does.  

“Nighty-night, little slayer,” Spider-Man sings. He crawls out from underneath the robot and kicks its defunct form away from him, sending it skidding down the street.  “Hey, we showed that thing who was boss!” Spider-Man says excitedly to Jameson, finally setting him down on his feet.  “Up top!” the webslinger raises his gloved hand to give him a high five, but Jameson just scowls at him.

“You’re bleeding,” he grunts.

Spider-Man looks at the blood dripping from the wound on the arm that’s cuffed to the publisher’s.  “So I am,” he says in mock surprise.  “Hey, Brock!”  he yells, as they walk back over to where the man Spider-Man just “rescued” is standing, looking at the pictures he’s taken on his digital camera.  “Brock-oli, my man.  You got some kind of death wish, dude?”

“Huh?” Brock says, looking up from his camera.  

“See, when most people see a giant robot trying to kill them, they run,” Spider-man informs him.  “You did a little thing called stay and capture the moment on film.  I mean, you lost your job.  What are you gonna do, write about it on your blog?”

“Maybe,” Brock replies secretively, raising his camera and flashing it in Spider-Man’s face.

“Quit it, Brock,” Spider-Man tells him, covering his mask lenses with his hand.

“Kid’s got a point, Brock,”  Jameson hates to say.  And he has no idea why he just called Spider-Man “kid,” but it just seemed natural.  “What are you taking pictures for anyway?”

“I told you, Mr. Jameson,”  Brock snaps another picture.  “I want my job back.  And if you still won’t give me another chance...”  He keeps taking more pictures.  “Then I’m going to get it back the only way I can...” Snap.  Another picture.  “By proving to you that I deserve it.”

“THIS IS HOW YOU PROVE IT TO ME?” Jameson thunders.  “By shoving a camera in my face when I very obviously don’t want to be photographed?  You think I want to print photos of myself in the Bugle handcuffed to this menace?  That’s the problem with you, Brock!  You never think!” He shoves Brock’s camera away.  

Brock’s face is set in anger.  “Well if you won’t give me another chance,” he says.  “If you won’t print my photos, then I’ll take them to someone who will.  I’ll take them to the Globe.”

“You most certainly will not!” Jameson roars.

“Yeah?” Brock says excitedly.  “You can’t stop me.”   Spider-Man grabs the camera from him and puts it around his neck.

“Finders keepers,” he says, before leaping onto the wall, climbing back up to the roof of the Daily Bugle building while Brock yells at them from below, his threats quickly becoming more imperceptible as they get higher up.  

As Spider-Man sets him down once more on the rooftop, Jameson’s torn between congratulating the wallcrawler on pissing off Eddie Brock, and yelling that he’d known all along Spider-Man was a conniving webheaded thief. He settles for grumbling, “Okay, he deserved that,”  as he brushes himself off.  “Just don’t do that to any of _my_ photographers,” he warns.

“Don’t worry your prickly little head,” Spider-Man scoffs, examining the stolen camera.  “I won’t touch your lapdog, Parker.”

“You know Parker?” Jameson demands.  

“He’s the one always taking pics of me, right?” Spider-Man asks.  “Skinny kid, mop of hair, rides a skateboard around?”

“Yeah, that’s him,” Jameson grumbles in confirmation.  

“Tell him I know his name,” Spider-Man chuckles.  “It’ll probably scare the shit out of him.”

Jameson snorts at that, finding that he agrees.

“What should I do with this camera?” Spider-Man asks.

“Don’t care,” Jameson grunts. “Smash it,” he suggests.

“But...this is a good camera.”  the webslinger sounds appalled.

“Okay, then don’t smash it,” Jameson shrugs.  “What are you gonna do with it?”

“Well...” Spider-Man says slowly.  “I mean, you could give it to Parker.”

“Parker?” Jameson repeats.  “Why in hell’s name would I do that?’

“Because, he’s your photographer, isn’t he?” Spider-Man rushes to explain.  “And he -- I mean, he _looks_ like he might not have money to buy a new camera or something.”

“He doesn’t,” Jameson agrees.  “But why should I care?  That’s _his_ problem!”

“Well, he’s like your whipping boy, isn’t he?” Spider-Man asks.  “Takes all your shit and all that?  I’m just saying, this might make him grateful to you, for once.”

“You just want him to take better pictures of you, right?” Jameson says, finally realizing what this is about.  “You’re some kind of attention hound and you want your pics to be high quality, is that it?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Spider-Man admits.  

“I knew it,” Jameson grumbles.  “Fine, I’ll give Parker the damn camera.  It’ll benefit me as well, to not have his crap pictures clogging up the front page.”

“If you say so,” Spider-Man says happily.  “Okay, I say we go to Gwen’s place next.  Hop on.”

“Gwen Stacy?” Jameson barks.  “You know where she lives?”

“...Maybe...” the wallcrawler responds.  

“How?” Jameson demands.

“No time to explain, forty-two minutes left!” Spider-Man says quickly.  “Let’s go.”

“Hold on a second!” Jameson pleads in panic before Spider-Man can scoop him up again and go swinging off into the night.  “We’re at the Bugle.  I have a car in the back lot.”

“So?”

“So, I’ll drive,” Jameson states forcefully.

“You’ll _drive_?” Spider-Man repeats in disbelief.  “We have forty-two minutes until we’re blown to bits, and you want to hop in a car?  Jeez, let’s just go to the DMV and start up iTunes while we’re at it.”

“There won’t be much traffic at this hour,” Jameson insists.

“Nope, nope, nope. Still too slow,” Spider-Man says, shaking his head. Jameson thinks he may be overestimating how slow driving is.  Though he guesses from the point of view of swinging a mile above traffic, cars must seem like crawling snails. “We done discussing this?” Spider-Man’s saying.  “Good.  Okay. Let’s do it like this this time.”  Spider-Man hoists Jameson onto his back again.  “Ready?” he asks, not giving Jameson time to respond before jumping off the rooftop.   

They go into a freefall, heading straight for the lifeless spider-slayer on the pavement.  Jameson screams.

“Please keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times,” Spider-Man shouts as he shoots out a web and swings upward, arching toward the dark sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to get the second chapter up! I'd really appreciate any feedback you have!


	3. Chapter 3

They land with a light thump on the fire escape of a twentieth story apartment. Jameson immediately lets go of Spider-Man and slides off his back, wondering how it’s possible that he makes a bigger racket falling one foot than Spider-man just did falling thirty.

Recovering from the wallcrawler’s joyride isn’t as difficult this time, now that he’s slightly more used to it, although his stomach turns at the idea of him becoming used to it.

“Well, this is the place,” Spider-Man says, peering into the window they’re sitting outside of.  Jameson takes a look inside as well.  He sees a neat bedroom with a lot of books and shoes.  Basically the typical bedroom of a teenage girl, he supposes.  His stomach turns again.  

“This is her _bedroom_ , wallcrawler!” he growls accusingly.

“Yeah...” Spider-Man responds slowly, like he’s trying to think of something wrong with that statement.

“So, you wanna tell me why we can’t go in the front door like normal people?” Jameson demands in frustration.  

“I, uh.  Her doorman doesn’t like me,” Spider-Man confesses.

Jameson groans.  “Great, that’ll give us something in common,” he says.  “Come on, let’s go.”

“No, this is fine,” Spider-man argues.  

“She’s not even in there!” Jameson points out.  

“Yeah but -- I think I hear her,” the wallcrawler insists.  

“I don’t hear anything,” Jameson grumbles.  

Spider-Man looks like he’s about to respond to that, but then suddenly the door to Gwen’s room opens and he shuts up quickly.  Gwen’s obviously just coming back from a shower; her hair is wet, and she’s wrapped in nothing but a towel. Both Spider-Man and Jameson immediately look away.  

“Come on, come on, let’s go,” Jameson grunts.

“Shhh,” Spider-Man hushes, glancing furtively through the window, before hastily looking back down at his feet.   Jameson looks quickly.  Gwen doesn’t see them. She’s combing her hair in the mirror with her back turned to them.   “You know, she should really close her curtain before she -- you know,” Spider-Man whispers.

“Yeah, she should,” Jameson agrees quietly.

She doesn’t.  After she finishes detangling her wet blond locks with her comb, Gwen drops her towel without a glance toward the window and begins putting on panties and a bra.

Spider-Man’s hanging his head, looking uncomfortable and oddly ashamed of himself.  Jameson has to look twice before he realizes why.  There’s a noticeable bulge in the crotch of Spider-Man’s suit -- more so than usual.  The spandex is tenting in an alarming way.  Meanwhile, Gwen’s standing in front of her closet in her underwear, trying to decide what to wear.

“You perverted little freak,” Jameson murmurs.  “Don’t look.”

“I’m not looking,” Spider-Man insists.

“Well, obviously you are,” Jameson disagrees, looking pointedly at the wallcrawler’s groin.

Spider-Man looks horrified and drops his handcuffed hand onto his lap -- then realizes this puts Jameson’s hand dangerously close to his erection and switches it out for his other hand.  “Who’s perverted now?” he mumbles.

“You are,” Jameson tells him, risking another glance into Gwen’s room.  She’s _still_ not dressed yet.  Indecisive adolescent. “Okay, come on, let’s go.”

“Go where?” Spider-Man asks miserably, refusing to move from his spot or lift up his head at all.  Not that Jameson feels bad for him -- that will never happen -- but he seems really embarrassed. That’s a new one.

Jameson sighs.  “Look, can you--” he pauses, trying to remember what he’d done at that age.  “Uh, think about -- do you have grandparents?”

Spider-Man shakes his head.

“Okay, then think about, uh -- apple pie.”

“Apple pie?” Spider-Man repeats.

“Sure, it’s nonsexual and all-American,” Jameson explains.  

“Just like you,” Spider-Man retorts.  

Jameson groans, but at least if the wallcrawler is making jokes again, that probably means it’s working.  “You know, she has a boyfriend,” he informs Spider-Man quietly, hating the way that makes him sound like a gossiping teenager.

“Yeah.”

“In fact, she’s dating Parker,” Jameson continues.  “You know, the kid whose camera you have hanging around your neck.”

“Yeah, thanks.  I’m aware,” Spider-Man whispers. Jameson chances another glance into Gwen’s room and finds that she’s finally gotten dressed and is now sitting at her computer.  

“Okay, it’s safe to look,”  he grunts.  

“Great,” Spider-Man replies, sounding relieved.  “I guess we can get her attention now.”

“Are you kidding?” Jameson demands. “She’ll know we were here!”

“36 minutes left,” Spider-Man retorts,  before knocking on the window with his free hand.  Gwen looks up in alarm from her computer screen.  

“P--”  her eyes widen.  “Spider-Man?” she exclaims, rushing to the window to open it and let them in.  “Uh, Mr. Jameson?” Gwen gawks at seeing them together outside her window.  “What are you doing here?” she questions.

“Baking cookies,” Spider-Man responds sarcastically.

“I...how long have you been out there?” Gwen questions.  

“Not long,” Spider-Man tells her quickly.  He pauses.  “Can we come in?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Gwen says, stepping aside to allow them through.  “Why are you--?”

“Got a new charm bracelet.  Do you like it?” Spider-Man quips, clambering through her window and holding up the handcuffs for her to see.  He winces from the movement of his injured arm, and Gwen notices.  

“Oh my god, you’re bleeding,” she tells him.

“Yeah, he’s been doing that,” Jameson grumbles.  Frankly he doesn't know how the wallcrawler even has any blood to spare, what with all the blood that had rushed to his penis.

“Tis but a scratch,” Spider-Man says dismissively, trying to make a joke of it, but it doesn’t work.  Gwen looks more concerned than before.  “Look, Gwen, there isn’t time.  Jolly Jonah and I are going to go kablooey in thirty-five minutes thanks to the explosive on these things.  Not only that, but Smythe has sent spider-slayers after you and Norman Osborn, and I have to stop them.”

“ _You_ have to stop them,” Gwen repeats.

“Yes.”

“ _You_ do?”

“That’s right,” Spider-Man tells her defiantly.  

“It can’t be someone else?” Gwen tries.

“You are correct.”

“Is this that power and responsibility thing again?” Gwen asks. Spider-Man groans.

“Yes, it is, okay?  It’s always that!”

Gwen looks unhappy.  “Fine,” she says.  “Let me look at that arm and try to get those handcuffs off you.”

“You can’t get them off,” Spider-Man informs her.  “Already checked them out.  Can’t break ‘em.  At least, not yet.”  

“Well, did you check if the--”

“Yes,” Spider-Man interrupts.  

“What about--”

“Yes,” he interrupts again.  “You think I’d still be cuffed to Jolly Jonah here if there was a way out of these puppies?  He smells like cigar smoke and shoe polish.”

“Well you smell like cheap deodorant and sewage,” Jameson returns, speaking honestly.

“Gentlemen, please,” Gwen says frustratedly. “I cannot believe there isn’t a way to get you out of those handcuffs of death.”

“Trust me, Gwen.  I have a plan,” Spider-Man assures her. “ I just wanted to warn you and make sure you were safe.  I’m going to--”

“No,” it’s Gwen’s turn to interrupt.  “No.  Sit down.  I’m going to look at your wound.”

“There isn’t time,” Spider-Man implores.  “I need to--”

“Spider-Man,” Gwen says sternly.  “Is the spider-slayer here right now?”

“Well...no...” Spider-Man replies slowly.

“And you’ll know when it’s coming, right?” Gwen asks.  “Your...uh --  you’ll know, right?”

“Yeah, but--”

“So you have a few minutes to spare,” Gwen concludes, sounding pleased.  “Sit down.”

“But--”

“You. Owe.  Me,” Gwen states threateningly.  “Sit.”

Spider-Man sits like a scolded dog, pulling Jameson down with him.  He leans against the end of Gwen’s bed while the girl leaves the room for a moment to get supplies.  

“You’re oftly quiet right now, flat-top,” the wallcrawler says to Jameson.  “What’s wrong? Feelin’ shy?”

“No,” Jameson grunts.  “Why is Smythe sending his robot after Gwen Stacy anyway?” he asks, realizing for the first time that it doesn’t make any sense to him.

“Well,” says Spider-Man, sounding like he’s debating whether or not to tell the truth. “Y’see…young Gwendolyn may have...sort of...a little bit...helped me escape...”

“WHAT?” Jameson bellows.  “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”

“No,” Spider-Man shakes his head.  “I swear, Gwen’s brilliant.  She interns at Oscorp, so that’s how she knew the codes, but seriously, everything I learned about the security system there I learned from her.”

“You’re lying,” Jameson accuses.  

“Why?” the webslinger demands.  “Are you _doubting_ her?  Because you don’t think a _girl_ could rescue the amazing Spider-Man?”

Jameson huffs.  “Well, I--”

“Well, you’re wrong, pal!”  Spider-Man tells him.  “ _Gwen’s_ amazing!  She can do anything!”

“What are you guys yelling about?” Gwen questions, coming back into the room with her arms full of medical materials.  

“Oh,”  Spider-Man says guilty.  “Uh.  Are your mom and brothers home?”

“At my grandparents’ house,” Gwen replies.

“Oh, pheew,” Spider-Man breathes, then shouts, “Prune face here is doubting your awesomeness!!!”

Gwen giggles.  “Uh,” she says. “Is he, now?”

“Yes,” Spider-Man nods.  “But don’t worry. I set him straight.”

Jameson scowls.  “I just meant, I didn’t realize a nice girl like Gwen would be in league with a piece of shit like yourself.”

“Jeez, and they say I swear too much,” Spider-Man says.

“You dropped the f-bomb on national television,” Gwen points out.  

“Fine, fine, I’m sorry for my potty mouth,” the wallcrawler apologizes.  “I was in distress, alright?  Didn’t realize my knight in shining armor here was gonna come save me.”

“Speaking of,” Gwen says pointedly.  “Time to look at that cut.  Can you -- I dunno, can you get your arm free at all?”

Jameson doubts that he can.  The wound is on the arm handcuffed to him, and seeing as Spider-Man’s suit looks like it’s all one piece, there doesn’t seem to be a way to free that arm.  After a few different equally unsuccessful tries, Spider-Man seems to realize that he’d have to strip naked in order to get his arm out.

“It’s no good,” Spider-Man declares hopelessly.  “Just cut it off.”

“Your suit?” Gwen asks.

“Well, I meant Jameson, but yeah, go ahead,” Spider-Man sighs.  “Just hurry up.”

Gwen picks up a pair of scissors and sticks the blade into the tear made by the spider-slayer’s leg.  She’s about to start cutting when Spider-Man suddenly stops her.

“Wait,” he says.  Gwen looks up in alarm.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, uh -- Do you have anything to eat?”

Gwen sighs, but looks amused.  “You’re hungry?” she inquires.  

Spider-Man nods.  “JJ made me think about apple pie,” he offers as explanation.  

Gwen gives him a quizzical look, but sets down the scissors and gets to her feet.  “Okay, I’ll be right back,” she says.  “You want anything, Mr. Jameson?”

Jameson shakes his head, and Gwen leaves the room again.  While she’s gone, the webslinger impatiently taps his foot on the carpet and checks the timer on the handcuffs every five seconds.  

“Jeez, what’s taking her so long?” he asks in frustration after about half a minute.  “Okay,” he picks up the scissors, handing them to Jameson.  “Just start doing this.”

Jameson blinks.  “What?” he says.  “You want me to -- what?”

“You do know how to cut, right?” Spider-Man asks sardonically. “You should have learned about that in Kindergarten.”  

“Of course I know how to cut, wallcrawler,” Jameson grouses.  “You really want me to?”

“No,” Spider-Man tells him.  “But do it anyway.”

“You trust me that close to you with a sharp object?” Jameson grunts.

“No,” Spider-Man repeats.  “But thirty-one minutes says I don’t have a choice.” He places the scissors in Jameson’s open palm.  “Here,” he says. “Just cut on the dotted line.”

Jameson takes the scissors in his hand. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, but then he doesn’t see a reason not to.  He’s just doing it.  He places the blade into the split in the fabric as Gwen had done and begins to cut through the spandex.  Spider-Man sighs again.  

“I don’t believe this,” he grumbles.  “Just patched it up, too.”  

“Well, why do you need to wear such a ridiculous costume?” Jameson questions as he carefully snips through the sleeve.

“It’s not a costume; it’s a uniform,” Spider-Man corrects.  “And it helps with my aerodynamics.”

“A uniform for what, your mentally unhinged army of one?” Jameson asks.

Spider-Man doesn’t answer him for once, but that suits the publisher just fine.  He finds himself wanting to focus on the task at hand.  In a way, he likes the feeling of cutting away the red and blue spandex Spider-Man hides behind.  Even if it’s not his mask, it’s still something, and that makes Jameson feel powerful.  In a weird way, though, it also feels very intimate somehow.  Not in a bad way, just weird.  He keeps cutting.  

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” Spider-Man asks suddenly.

Jameson pauses.  “I’m -- you told me to cut it, wallcrawler!” he yells frustratedly.  

“Yeah, but don’t cut it all the way around,” Spider-Man instructs.  “Leave it attached.  Cut down now.”

“What in blazes do you mean?” Jameson demands.  

“Like, don’t cut the whole sleeve off, just cut a hole.”

“I’m gonna cut it the way I want to cut it,” Jameson growls.

“No, it’s my suit.  I made it.  Give me the scissors,” Spider-Man tells him.  Jameson holds the scissors at arm’s length away from him while the webslinger grabs for them.

“No,” says Jameson defiantly.

“Didn’t anybody ever tell you boys not to play with scissors?” Gwen asks, entering the room once more with a plate of food. She snatches the scissors away from Jameson.  “Jeez,” she says  “I was only gone for two minutes.

“Two and a half minutes, actually,” Spider-Man corrects, glancing at the timer.   

“Well, that’s how long Bagel Bites take to cook,” Gwen says, setting the plate down in front of him.  Jameson wrinkles his nose as the unpalatable smell of microwaved cheese wafts toward him.

Spider-Man shoves his mask up to his nose and begins scarfing down the snacks three at a time.

Meanwhile, Gwen kneels down in front of him and finishes Jameson’s shearing job on Spider-Man’s suit, making a neat hole that exposes his wound without actually removing any of the fabric.  Jameson glances at the cut on Spider-Man’s arm.  It looks kind of deep, but he’s definitely seen worse.  Then again, Spider-Man’s been pretty relaxed about it, whereas a laceration this size would have most people crying in pain and probably not punching robots and carrying people on their back and swinging halfway across the city.

Gwen takes a wet towel and begins gently cleaning the blood from the wound and wiping away all the blood that’s run down the Spider-Man’s arm.  It’s not until she begins using antiseptic to clean it that the wallcrawler begins hissing in discomfort.  

“Hurry up, will you?” he asks weakly, as she slowly dabs at his cut.  

“Calm down,” Gwen tells him, pouring more disinfectant on the wound.  Spider-Man groans painfully.

“26 minutes,” he whimpers.  

“Stop looking at that,” Gwen snaps at him.  

She puts down the bloodied towel and the disinfectant and wipes his arm with a clean towel for a moment before picking up a roll of gauze bandage.  Gwen begins carefully wrapping the bandage around his arm.  Jameson watches her work, only halfway paying attention.  The other half of his thoughts are focused on something that has been bothering him since Spider-Man first dropped down outside her bedroom window.  He sighs.  

“Miss Stacy,” he says.  “I’d ask to have a private word with you, but since I’m clearly not going to get rid of this wallcrawling menace anytime soon, I’m just going to tell you this, since I don’t really care if he hears it anyway.”  

“Okay...” Gwen says slowly, glancing at Spider-Man.  The webslinger shrugs, pulling his mask back down now that he’s finished eating.  

“This webheaded criminal knows where you live,” Jameson informs her.  “Not only that, but he clearly has a perverted attraction to  you.  One look between his legs would tell you that.”

Spider-Man quickly drops his hand into his lap.  

“I’d suggest moving,” Jameson adds in conclusion.  

Gwen looks slightly stunned.  “Uh,” she says.  “Well, thank you for telling me that.  I will...take that into consideration.”  

Jameson highly doubts that, but he gave it a shot anyway. At least now if Gwen goes missing in the middle of the night and they find her a week later raped and wrapped up in spiderwebs, he won’t have himself to blame.

“I know where you live too, pookie,” Spider-Man says to Jameson as Gwen finishes up bandaging the webslinger’s arm.

“You do not,” Jameson growls.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, picklepuss,” Spider-Man responds, clasping him on the shoulder with his now bandaged arm.  Jameson shoves his hand away.  

“Don’t touch me, you wallcrawling menace,” he threatens.  

“Hey, speaking of,” says Spider-Man.  “Can I ask you a question?”

“No,” Jameson grunts.  Spider-Man continues anyway.  

“How are you so _sure_ I’m a menace?”

“Huh?” says Jameson.

“Just, what makes you so certain?”  Spider-Man asks.  “And don’t say you watch the news, because you _are_ the news.”

“You’re a vigilante,” Jameson informs him.  “And you’re partially responsible for Captain Stacy’s death.  Everyone knows it.”  

“Yeah, since _you_ told them,” Spider-Man asserts, glancing up at Gwen, but she looks away, lowering her eyes sadly.  “Okay,” Spider-Man presses on.  “Vigilante, sure.  Stick and stones.  But I’m not a murderer!”

“You wear a mask!” Jameson barks.  “If you’re innocent, why not go to the police?  Why not tell everyone who you are?”

“Weren’t you paying attention to your own live broadcast?” Spider-Man questions.  “They’d cut me up!  Those asshole scientists at Oscorp -- no offense, Gwen -- can’t wait to get their grubby hands on me!”

“So?” Jameson asks.  “I thought you liked that science crap.  Shouldn’t you be eager to contribute?”

“Fine, I’ll donate my “abnormal body” to science...once I’m _dead_ ,” Spider-Man says bitterly.  “Until then, no thank you.  I mean, I don’t even like you looking at my perfectly-normal, I'm-young-it-happens boner through my spandex!  I don’t want my anatomy to be _studied_!”

“Well, you’re a freak,” Jameson states bluntly.  “An aberration.  A weirdo.  People are gonna want to poke at you a bit.  So what?  They have the right to the truth.  If you don’t like it, you should have thought about that before you--”

“Before he what?” Gwen interrupts angrily. “He didn’t ask to be like this!”

“Gwen, you don’t have to--”  Spider-Man says awkwardly.

“No, you shut up,” Gwen tells him sternly.  “Listen, Mr. Jameson.  You shouldn’t talk to him like that. Spider-Man saved this whole city, including you.  He didn’t kill my father either.  And you know what?  I’m glad he knows where I live because I feel safer knowing he’s looking out for me.  Look what happened tonight.  He didn’t come to perv on me.  He came to save me. Because that’s what he does.  Spider-Man saves people.”

“That’s _your_ opinion,” Jameson says after a beat.  “I’m entitled to my own.”

“Wow,”  Spider-Man replies. “You know, I don’t really want to talk about this anymore.  In fact, let’s not talk to each other at all anymore.  That sound good to you?  Jeez, I really wish that spider-slayer would show up soon.  I need to punch something.”  He stands up, yanking Jameson to his feet as well.  “Hey, got any duct tape?”  For some reason Spider-man sounds a little choked up like he might be trying not to cry, but Jameson can’t tell for sure, because of that mask.  That damn mask.

“You want to tape your suit back together?” Gwen asks.

“I was gonna tape JJ’s mouth shut, but yeah, I could do that too.”

Gwen chuckles.  “Okay, let me look.”

“Wait a second, I don’t need duct tape,” Spider-Man says, slapping himself on the forehead.  “Duh.  Forgot who I was for a second.”  He holds the hole in his suit closed while he carefully sprays webbing over it, keeping it nicely sealed shut. “There we go,” he says. “So how about we...” he drifts off, his head turning to look over his shoulder.

“What?” Gwen questions warily.  “Is it--?”

“Yeah,” Spider-Man answers without explanation.  “Time to go,” he says, turning to Jameson.  He lifts the camera from around his neck.  “Here, hold this for me.”  He hands the camera to Gwen.

“Whose camera is this?” Gwen asks, and Spider-Man pulls Jameson toward the window.  

“Peter Parker’s,” Spider-Man replies, and for some reason Gwen looks stunned.  “Give him that to him with a kiss from me next time you see him,” he adds, before ducking out onto the fire escape.  Jameson hears the sounds of the spider-slayer fast approaching.  “Stay inside,” Spider-Man says to Gwen.  “And be careful with that camera!” he calls as he jumps off the fire escape.  

Jameson cries out as Spider-Man pulls him onto his back as they fall toward the ground.  At the last second the wallcrawler shoots out a string of webbing and catches himself on an awning so that they land lightly on the ground.  Jameson sees the spider-slayer marching toward them.  This one is bigger; it looks stronger and better equipped.  He begins to doubt they will even survive the next twenty-one minutes and be blown to bits, seeing as Spider-Man’d had enough trouble with the inferior model.  

“Jeez, that isn’t very eensy weensy,” Spider-Man comments, as he prepares himself for battle, crouching down sort of like a cat preparing to pounce.

When the robot reaches Gwen’s apartment building, it begins scanning the area.  Within moments it propels itself into the air, rising above their heads toward where Gwen is still safely inside her room.  Spider-Man shoots a web at the robot and pulls on it with both hands.  The spider-slayer, its flight engines no match for the vigilante’s superhuman strength, comes crashing to the ground, cephalothorax over abdomen.  

Unfortunately, that doesn’t do much to damage it.  That would have been too easy.  The spider-slayer rights itself, its many legs digging into the ground with their sharp edges.

“Aw, my kite didn’t fly,” Spider-Man jokes, as the spider-slayer turns to face them, analysing with its scanner.  “What’s wrong, robo?” the wallcrawler asks, taking the chance to leap up and kick the robot in the face while it is distracted.  “Don’t recognize me?  You should. I’m in _all_ the papers.”  

This robot has two tasers.  It fires both of them at Spider-Man while he dodges easily, giving Jameson motion sickness as he does.  

“Or maybe you’re just star struck?” Spider-Man continues, busily webbing up the tasers so they can’t fire.  “Don’t be nervous;  I take out my robots one leg at a time just like the rest of you.”  

With that, Spider-Man webs up one of the front legs and tries to pull it off like he’d done to the last robot.  He damages the leg, but doesn’t manage to pull it off completely, it being a lot bigger.  Still, it’s effective; the damaged leg drags along the ground, inhibiting the robot’s mobility.  However, with Spider-Man caught up in that endeavor, the robot manages to clear the webbing away from its tasers and fire them again.  The wallcrawler moves out of the way at the last second.  

“Hey now, I took your brother’s toys away from him when he wasn’t playing nicely.  I can do the same thing to you,” Spider-Man informs the robot.  He swings from a lightpost, landing on top of the giant metal creature.  “He did tell you about me right?” Spider-Man questions in jest.  “All good, I hope.”

From his position on the apex, Spider-Man is able to web up both of the top-mounted tasers at the same time, therefore giving him a chance to destroy them. He yanks one right out of it’s socket and quickly tosses it into the air, not even pausing to watch its fast descent back to earth ending in a machinery-shattering crash on the sidewalk.  But before he can get to the other taser, one of the robot’s leg’s rotates up, yanking them off it’s back.  

Spider-Man and Jameson go flying toward the pavement.  Spider-Man twists himself in the air, ensuring that Jameson will land on top of him, but it’s still a crash landing.  The wind is knocked out of Jameson for a moment longer than Spider-Man takes to recover completely.  Before he knows it, he’s once again on the webslinger’s back and swinging over the robot’s head.  Jameson’s already completely sore.  He’ll definitely be bruised all over tomorrow -- if he lives that long.  

“Hey, be careful!  I have delicate cargo!” Spider-Man yells at the spider-slayer.  “You okay, picklepuss?” he asks Jameson.

“If I wasn’t, it would be all your fault; don’t you forget it!” Jameson shouts back, as Spider-Man webs up the spider-slayer’s legs.

“Okay, judging by your resounding condemnation I’d say you’re fine,” the wallcrawler responds sarcastically.   He shoots more webs at the robot’s appendages, keeping a wary distance away from the remaining taser which is still firing at him every now and then.  “What do you say we wrap this up?” Spider-Man jokes.  He doesn’t even need to bow his head to get to the underside of the spider-slayer -- the robot is just that big.  Spider-Man starts to do his thing with the circuitry again, but Jameson’s been here before, and he doesn’t need to be able to disable a complicated robot to do this math; with the way the robot’s rocking in Spider-Man’s webs, there’s no way he’s going to finish in time before the robot breaks free and crushes them beneath its hull.  

“Get out of here!” he shouts, nudging Spider-man in the side with his foot as if he is a horse he is trying to make go.  Spider-Man looks up just in time as the spider-slayer rips the webbing away.  He dives out from underneath it.  

“Couldn’t have stayed still for just a moment longer?” Spider-Man asks exasperatedly.  “What’s wrong?  Didn’t like my pun?”   Dodging the taser again, he leaps onto the lamp post and shoots more webs from above.  “Well, this is your _pun_ -ishment,”  Spider-Man quips.

The spider-slayer tries to zap Spider-Man off the lamp post, but as he dodges, the spider-slayer lashes out with one of its legs and snatches him out of the air.  It pushes him towards its front pincher like its feeding itself and clasps around the webslinger, holding him there.  Jameson’s fallen off of Spider-Man’s back but he’s gripping him tightly, trying very hard not to be hanging on by only his wrist.  Meanwhile, the spider-slayer is trying to crush Spider-Man to death.  

“Okay, okay, you don’t like puns.  Got it,” the wallcrawler chokes out.  

Jameson worries this could be the end. If Spider-Man dies right now, he’s surely screwed.  Suddenly, there’s a loud clanging sound from the rear end of the spider-slayer and Jameson spots a metal trashcan rebounding away after having been thrown at the it.  The robot lurches around, dropping Spider-Man in the process and there’s Gwen standing there, looking scared but determined.  

“Nobody likes puns, Spidey,” she says.  

“Gwen!” Spider-Man shouts, picking up Jameson on his back again.  “What are you _doing_?”

“Uh, right now?” Gwen asks, nervously backing away from the spider-slayer.  “Not too sure.”

Spider-Man seems to fly right over the spider-slayer as he _leaps_ over it to get to Gwen. He scoops her up in his free arm.  “What did I tell you?” he asks, as he jumps high up onto the wall of the building, sticking with his feet.  

“Don’t worry; the camera’s safe,” Gwen assures him.  Spider-Man groans.

“I told you to stay inside,” he corrects.  

“But I can help,” Gwen insists. “Are you doubting my awesomeness now?”

“I’m certainly not doubting your ability to drive me insane,” Spider-Man tells her.  

Suddenly the spider-slayer fires its taser at them and the webslinger is forced to jump off the wall with no free hands to shoot webs to catch himself.  Gwen screams as they bounce off the lamp post, Spider-Man’s legs kicking off the top of it to jump over the spider-slayer and land behind it.  

“Believe it or not, this is harder than it looks no-handed,” Spider-Man says.

“Put me down,” Gwen urges.  “I came to help, not get in the way!”

“You know where would have been a good place to not get in the way from?  Inside,” the wallcrawler answers, though as he says this he does in fact set Gwen down on her feet.

He jumps back over to the other side of the robot, distracting it from Gwen by running around dodging the taser its firing.  That comes with a few close calls though, so after a few minutes Spider-Man webs up the taser and hops on top of it to pull it out.  However, with the webslinger out of its line of sight, the spider-slayer forgets about him, finally registering its target behind it.  

It turns around.  Gwen, who was probably trying to figure out a way to get under it to disable it, freezes in place.  The spider-slayer scuttles forward and lashes out at her with the legs it has that are still undamaged.  She’s very nearly sliced open by the sharp appendages, but luckily it doesn’t come to that, because at that moment, Spider-Man goes _berserk_.  

He attacks from behind, grabbing one of the rear legs of the spider-slayer, not even caring he’s in close proximity to the other knifelike legs because in lightning speed he lifts the robot up and away from Gwen and flips it entirely over.  Suddenly, there’s webbing everywhere as Spider-Man goes nuts webbing each of the legs to the ground.  

“You want to help?” the wallcrawler asks Gwen breathlessly.  “Help.”  

Gwen nods, and approaches the overturned spider-slayer carefully, stepping over the legs splayed out on the ground to get to the machinery on its upturned belly.  Kneeling on top of it, she quickly gets to work.  She doesn’t do it with the same speediness as Spider-Man; her fingers can’t move with the inhuman quickness that the webslinger’s can, but she does it still with an impressive preciseness and confidence -- she makes it look easy.  

Meanwhile, Spider-Man’s crouched on the lamp post, keeping a very close watch on Gwen and the robot to make sure it doesn’t suddenly break out of the webs while she’s on top of it.  Everything goes smoothly though and there’s the familiar sound of the spider-slayer powering down and Gwen climbs off of the robot looking pleased with herself.

“And I did it without ripping my arm open too,” Gwen teases playfully.  Spider-Man jumps off the lamp post, landing next to Gwen, and puts Jameson down.  

“Impressive,” Spider-Man says, nodding.  “I’m sure you could have done it without my help as well,” he jokes.

“Obviously,” Gwen responds.  “You were completely superfluous.”

Spider-Man laughs.  “Well, speaking of superfluous, I guess Jolly Jonah and I should probably get going.”    

“Hold on a damn moment,” Jameson speaks up.  “Where’s the camera?”  

Gwen blinks.  “I--I left it inside,” she tells him.  “Spidey said he wanted me to give it to Peter?”

“No, _I’m_ gonna give it to Parker,” Jameson says gruffly.  “Go get it.”

Gwen looks sideways at Spider-Man for a moment, but obediently goes back into the apartment building through the lobby.  The doorman has long since fled from the spider-slayer and vacated his post.  While Gwen’s gone, Jameson turns to the wallcrawler and gets down to business.

“How many minutes left?” he asks, not wanting to look for himself.

Spider-Man glances at the timer.  “Twelve.”

“Are we going to die?” Jameson questions.  

“No, I have a plan,” Spider-Man assures him.  

“Listen wallcrawler,” Jameson growls.  “I don’t need you pandering to me.  If I’m gonna die I want to know about it.”

“No, I really have a plan,” Spider-Man insists.  “I’ll save Norman Osborn and get us out of this deathtrap in twelve minutes or less guaranteed, or the pizza’s on the house. “

Jameson groans.  Twelve minutes until they explode and still one more spider-slayer to take out, and still the webslinger can’t be serious.  At that moment, Gwen comes running out of the building, the camera clutched in her hand.  

“Here,” she says, thrusting the camera into Jameson’s hand.  “Take it.”  Jameson accepts the camera from her and hangs it by its strap around his neck.  It’s heavier than he thought it would be.  “Now go,”  Gwen tells them.  “Get out of here.”

Spider-Man picks up Jameson on his back and raises his hand, about to shoot a web, but he pauses, looking back at Gwen.  “Hey, Gwen...” he says.  “9x minus 7i is greater than 3 times 3x minus 7u.  Solve for i.”

Gwen chuckles.  “Yeah,” she responds.  “Me too.”  

Jameson doesn’t know what that was about, but it seems to have satisfied the wallcrawler, because he springs up into the air, shooting a web from the peak of his jump and swings off.


	4. Chapter 4

Thankfully, it’s only a short swing to the Oscorp Tower.  The Osborns also have a penthouse apartment in Manhattan -- and probably additional residences elsewhere -- but since Norman Osborn had gotten sick, he’s been in an intensive care until on one of the top floors of the tower, bedridden.  

Jameson doesn’t know how Spider-Man knows this, but for some reason he does, because he lands on the top of the tower -- a stomach turning height, almost nosebleed territory.  

“You have something against lobbies, kid?” Jameson questions.  

“Going in through the lobby?  Not part of the plan,” Spider-Man responds.  

“Let me guess, the doorman hates you here too?”

“Maybe.  But not the point.  This is a shortcut.”  

He looks around for a moment and then walks toward one of the edges of the building.  At first Jameson is afraid he’s going to jump off again, but he doesn’t.  Instead he turns around and climbs backwards down the side, hands and feet sticking to the shear surface of the windows.  As they climb, Jameson can see into the top floors of the Oscorp Tower.   He sees part of an elegant apartment and a high tech engineering lab.  

“This is how I find people when they’re sleeping,” Spider-Man says.  Then after a beat he adds, “Kidding.”  

Jameson’s going to respond how that’s not at all funny, but at that moment he realizes they’re just above the intensive care unit.  He can see the white sanitary floor and wall of medical equipment.  Spider-Man creeps down the side until Norman Osborn himself is visible inside, obviously asleep in the bed surrounded by blinking machines.  Harry Osborn is sitting in an armchair beside him, a shiny black laptop perched on his lap.  

Spider-Man knocks on the glass.  

Harry warily looks up from his computer screen.  Seeing Spider-Man and Jameson hanging outside the window, his eyes widen.  He glances from the window to his father, and then back to the window.  Spider-Man knocks again.  

Harry puts down his laptop and walks a bit closer to the window.  He yells at them, and Jameson can just barely make out “The window doesn’t open!”

Spider-Man groans.  Jameson wonders briefly if this will make him reconsider the going-through-the-lobby option, but before he realized what’s happening, Spider-Man punches the window, smashing it into pieces.  Harry cries out and stumbles away from from the shattered glass.

“I figured you could use some air,” Spider-Man says, climbing into the room through the jagged hole he made.  “Fresh air’s good for sick people, right?”

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” Harry shouts at him.  “GET OUT OF HERE, YOU FREAK!”

“Trust me, I wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t--” Spider-Man tries, but Harry interrupts him.

“ _Trust_ you?  You’re breaking and entering!  What, you kidnapped Mr. Jameson and now you’re after my father?”

“Harry, calm down,” Jameson tells him.  “We’re here because--”

“ _We?_ ”  Harry interrupts again.  “So now you’re in league with the wallcrawler?  That’s the news story of the millenium!”

“Hey!” Jameson shouts, offended.  “I’m not in league with this menace!”

“Oh yeah?  Then tell me why you’re putting my father--”  This time Harry’s interrupted.  Norman Osborn coughs.

“Breaking my building again, Spider-Man?  This is what? The third time now?”

Everyone in the room shuts up and turns toward the bed.  There’s a moment of stunned silence.  Finally Spider-Man speaks up.  

“To be fair, Mr. Osborn, your building started it.”

Norman coughs again, but differently, like he might be trying to laugh but can’t get enough air for that.  “Ah, there’s that sense of humor I’ve heard so much about,” he says, almost fondly. His eyes seem to be appraising Spider-Man.  He then turns his gaze to Jameson.  “And Jonah,” he says.  “How are you?”  

“How do you think?” Jameson growls, not in mood for niceties, even for Norman Osborn.  “I’m handcuffed to a criminal.”  Jameson and Spider-Man raise their handcuffed arms together to show him.  

“An interesting situation,” Norman comments, as if Jameson had just shown him his new watch.  “How did these circumstances come about?”

“Smythe,” Jameson spits.  “Is a goddamn lunatic.  Handcuffed me to this menace and a damn bomb for good measure, sent his damn robots after everyone he thinks wronged him, including you--”  

“Hold on,” Harry says sharply.  “A bomb?”  

“Don’t worry, buddy.  There’s still six minutes left on the clock,”  Spider-Man says casually.  

“That’s it; I’m calling security,” Harry decides, whipping out his phone.  

“Harry, please,” Norman says frustratedly as his son mashes the buttons.  

“Father,” Harry snaps back.  Clearly there is unrest in the Osborn household.  

“You’re not gonna throw _his_ phone out the window?” Jameson mutters to Spider-Man.

“Are you kidding?  That thing probably costs more than my house.”    the webslinger murmurs back.  “Plus,” he adds.  “This is all part of the plan.”  

“Security!” Harry yells into his phone.  “Spider-Man is in the ICU!  He may have explosives!  I need help now!”  

“Harry, I’m sure that’s not necessary,” Norman says.  

“No, it is actually,” Spider-Man tells him.  “In fact, you should have called security the moment you saw me outside.  I mean, what the hell’s wrong with you?”  

“You--what?” says Norman, sounding taken aback.

“Jeez Norm, let’s see, you sent a giant robot after me, captured me, and nearly unmasked me on national television.  A little thing like that gets a guy a bit pissed off, you know?”

“I...I meant no harm by it,” Norman insists.  “I simply wanted to ensure the safety of this fair city of ours.”

“That’s very good of you; very noble,” Spider-Man comments.  “But here’s the thing, Osborn, I do what I want.”

“Security!” Harry shouts again, and finally the sound of booted footsteps thunders through the halls as a SWAT team of heavily armored Oscorp security guards rushes to the scene.  

“Being arrested by Oscorp security is part of your plan?” Jameson asks.

“Oh, JJ,” Spider-Man replies, sounding amused.  “Do you even know me at all?”

“Neutralize him,” Norman instructs.  “I want him alive.”  

“Hands where we can see them, Spider-Man,” one of the guards barks, as a dozen of them stomp into the room and train their guns on him.  

“Okay,” says Spider-Man, raising his arms, and Jameson raises his arms too, partially because one of them’s linked to Spider-Man’s, and partially because that’s just the natural thing to do when you have a dozen guns pointed at you.  “Where’s the best place for you to see them from?” Spider-Man jokes.  He grabs Jameson and leaps to the ceiling, sticking with his legs and his free arm.  Jameson dangles down.  “How about up here?” Spider-Man asks.  “Can you all get a good view of them from up here?”  

The guards angle their guns up at Spider-Man, but they seem hesitant to shoot at him for fear of hitting Jameson instead, which Jameson is grateful for.

“Quick test,” Spider-Man continues.  “How many fingers am I holding up?”  He hangs upside down from the ceiling by his feet so that the other arm is free to make his signature hand gesture and shoot webs at the security guards.   He sprays webs at a few of the guards’ guns and pulls them toward him, gathering them up in his arms.  He sticks them to the ceiling in a great glob of webbing.  “You know it’s very rude to point guns at people,” he says, doing the same thing to more of the guards’ guns.  “They might accidentally go off.”

Once he’s taken all the guards’ guns, he drops back down to the floor and swings Jameson onto his back.  They try to grab him, but even with the bulkiness of Jameson hanging onto him, he’s able to slip away from them every time and easily dodge them every time they try to tackle him.  He makes his way over to the window without even touching any of them and climbs back out through the hole in the glass, clinging to the outside edge of the window to deliver one last message.  

“Attention Oscorp SWAT fuck-ups,” Spider-Man calls disparagingly.  “You have failed to capture me.  Hopefully you’re not so incompetent that you can’t keep watch on ol’ Norman over there while I take care of something downstairs.  Good luck.”  He salutes them sarcastically.  “Oh, and Norman?” he adds.  “Fuck you.”

With that Spider-Man releases his grip on the window and falls one hundred stories.  

Jameson screeches like a wild animal until the moment Spider-Man catches himself on a web and land softly on the ground.  The publisher’s heart is beating a mile a minute but he doesn’t have time to calm himself down.  “That was part of your plan?”  Jameson shouts at the wallcrawler.  “Get the security guards in there with the guy the robot’s going after, but take all their guns away so they can’t even do their job?”

“Guns wouldn't do them any good anyway,” Spider-Man tells him.  “And if we’re lucky, the slayer won’t even make it that far.  That was just a precaution.  Besides, I hate guns.”  

Jameson only has a second to contemplate that before he’s distracted by the powerful clanging sound of a monstrous machine advancing toward them.  

“My, my, robo,” Spider-Man calls, looking up at the spider-slayer, which is a great deal larger than even the last one had been.  “What big legs you have. Let me guess, the better to dance with, right?”  He shoots out a web and swings toward the robot, sticking to the side of it and crawling up to the top.  He stands up.  “I’m the king of the world!” he shouts, throwing his arms wide.  Jameson groans.  

Spider-Man then gets down to business, thankfully.  He locates three tasers mounted on the top of the robot and rips one off.  “Let me just preemptively get rid of this for you so you don’t get into any trouble,” he says, smashing it on the ground.

“That won’t do you any good, wallcrawler,” a voice emanates from the robot.  “Spider-slayer 3.0 is equipped with a vast set of weapons to use against you.”  

“Smythe?” Spider-Man says, recognizing the voice. “Oh god, you’re not inside of there, are you?”  

“You think I would be that stupid?” Alistair laughs.  “No, I am a safe distance away, controlling my beautiful machine and watching you battle for your life against it!”  

“Oh, so it’s like a video game.  Cool,” Spider-Man comments.  “Hey, you lose five points for getting hit with webs!”  Spider-Man jumps off the robot and sprays webbing at its many legs.  However, the spider-slayer  is so big and powerful that it barely has any effect. Alistair fires the two remaining tasers at the vigilante.  “And you get one extra life if you can hit me,” the wallcrawler taunts, dodging out of the way.  “Man, your aim sucks,” he adds, as he easily evades the tasers’ blasts every time.  

“This is not a video game, wallcrawler!” Alistair’s voice shakes with anger and frustration.  “You are not taking this seriously!  I am going to destroy you!  Of course,” he pauses. “Why bother?  You must not have much time left.  Around four minutes, I’m guessing.”  

“Three and a half, but thanks for your concern,” Spider-Man replies.  “Well, since you don’t need to destroy me, you don’t mind if I stick around, do you?” Spider-Man jokes, jumping onto the robot and clinging to the side.  “Sorry about that.  I think those tasers are set to pun.  Let me fix that.”  He climbs up to the top and webs up the tasers.  “Alistair?” he says, as the robot pays him no attention and just continues forward.  “Jeez,  all night I’ve been cracking wise to these things!  Finally I get one that talks back and you’re not even listening!”  

“I’m finished with you, Spider-Man,” Alistair replies.  “I’m moving onto my real target -- Norman Osborn!”  

“Sorry, Norm’s sleeping right now,” Spider-Man tells him.  “And he’s a very grumpy billionaire when you wake him up from his nap.”  Spider-Man leaps off the back of the spider-slayer and lands on the street in front of it.  He then begins webbing up the robot’s legs, but Alistair merely laughs madly and then with a hissing sound, gas emits from the front of the spider-slayer.  

“Die, pest!” Alistair yells.  

Spider-Man coughs.  “Hey… I...resent...that…” he says weakly, falling to his hands and knees.  Jameson begins to feel a little lightheaded as well, but nowhere near the symptoms Spider-Man is showing.  

“What’d you do to him, Smythe?” Jameson asks.  The gas smells faintly sweet, but he can’t identify it.  

“Just as I thought,” Smythe laughs.  “Spider-Man is susceptible to ethyl chloride -- pesticide.” The spider-slayer marches past the wallcrawler’s weak form toward the Oscorp Tower.

“Pesticide?”  Jameson repeats.  He’d laugh too if this wasn’t such a horrible situation already.  “Give me a break!  Get up, wallcrawler!  It’s just a little bug spray!”  

“Smythe,” Spider-Man coughs.  “I’m sorry.”  

“Huh?” says Jameson.

“You were right, Smythe!” Spider-Man shouts after the spider-slayer.  “It’s my fault!  I should have--” He coughs.  “Should have saved you.”

The spider-slayer stops, turning around so that the camera lens on the front has a good view of the vigilante kneeling on the ground, offering his apology.  

“You should have,” Alistair agrees.  “But it’s too late.  You must pay.”  

“I’ll be paying in one minute, Smythe,” Spider-Man tells him.  “Don’t bring anyone else into this.  Leave Norman Osborn alone.”  

“He’s your enemy too!”  Alistair shouts.  “Why won’t you let me destroy him?”  

“Because,” Spider-Man says as he gets to his feet, his voice getting stronger as the gas clears.  “I  won’t let anyone else get hurt.”  With that he snaps Jameson’s handcuff off of him.  “Run,” he says.  

The timer on the handcuffs still chained around Spider-Man’s arm begins emitting a quiet beeping sound.  Jameson backs away from it.

“You fool!” Alistair shouts in delight.  “When the handcuffs are broken the timer speeds up to half time!”

“I figured that might happen,” Spider-Man says, sounding like himself again. “Which is why I did it now instead of at the beginning. Only lost thirty seconds instead of thirty minutes.  Neato, huh?”     

“That won’t save you!” Alistair bellows.  “In thirty seconds you will die!”

“Maybe,” Spider-Man agrees.  Alistair shoots the tasers at him again, but Spider-Man all too easily manages to avoid  being hit.  Free of the constraining weight and bulkiness of Jameson, Spider-Man looks way too hyper as he flips around the spider-slayer in a blur.   He lands on top of it.   “Say, Dr. Smythe, can I ask you a question?” he says, peering into the camera lens.  “You’re controlling this robot, right?  There’s no like, computer directing it?”  

“Yes,” Alistair says gleefully.  “While the other spider-slayers were controlled by mere artificial intelligence, allowing you to defeat them, this one has the mind of a genius at its helm, enabling me to outwit you at every turn!”  

“Fascinating,” Spider-Man responds, and smashes the lens.  

“No!” Alistair shouts.  “What have you done?”  He fires the taser blindly, but without them really aiming at anything, it’s easy for Spider-Man to simply tear them off.  

“Ha!  Bet you didn’t see that coming?”  Spider-Man quips.  He jumps off the spider-slayer and webs up its legs.  “This is just too easy,” he comments.  “See what I mean?”  

Alistair screams, then seems to calm himself and take a deep breath.  “Fine, Norman Osborn will pay another day.  Goodbye, Spider-Man.”  The spider-slayer takes flight, rising up into the sky.  Spider-Man glances over his shoulder at Jameson and gives him a thumbs up.  Jameson can hear that the beeping on the timer has gotten faster.  He has only seconds left.   

Spider-Man shoots a web at the ascending spider-slayer and pulls himself on top of it just as it reaches the canopy of the city.  As it gets higher and higher Jameson can still see it, but he can’t see what’s happening up there.  He suddenly remembers the camera around his neck.  If an idiot like Brock can work this thing, he definitely can.  He quickly turns it on and finds the correct setting, raising it to his face to look through the lens and zooms in as much as possible.

Boom. The device explodes in a flash of light over the city, the spider-slayer...and Spider-Man going with it.  Jameson snaps a picture.   

An eerie calm sets over the street.  Jameson’s astonished.  He can’t move.  The wallcrawler...Spider-Man…sacrificed himself to save him.  Now he’s gone, and Jameson will never be able to tell him…that maybe...he’d been...wrong about him.

Throughout the whole hole hour they’d been stuck together, Spider-Man had been putting his life in danger chasing after robots, saving people who had hurt him in the past.  Brock, Osborn, and yes, even Jameson had all been involved in a plan to expose Spider-Man to the world, yet the wallcrawler had just saved all their lives without hesitation.  And in the process he had paid for it with his life.

Maybe Spider-Man wasn’t the villain Jameson made him out to be.  Maybe he was trying to be good.  The feeling of shock leaving him, and numbness setting in, Jameson walks to the next street over and hails a taxi, tells the driver to take him to the Bugle.  

In the cab he looks at the picture he has taken.  A perfect shot of the explosion.  A perfect shot of Spider-Man’s death.  Jameson’s heart starts beating fast.  Maybe he can make something good of this.  The Daily Bugle will have the exclusive scoop on the death of Spider-Man, finally exposing him for what he is -- a hero.  

And just think of all the copies it will sell!  He’ll probably have to do three printings!  

When the taxi pulls up in front of the Daily Bugle building, Jameson nearly leaps out of the cab, thrusting a fistful of cash at the driver.  He walks swiftly into the building, clutching the camera tightly in his hands.  Up the elevator he goes, to the top floor.  

It’s getting late -- almost 3 a.m, but the newsroom of the Daily Bugle never shuts down entirely. The floor is still half full of his employees hard at work, drowning their drowsiness in coffee . As he crosses the room to his office he says to Betty,

“Cancel everything we had for the front page tomorrow.  I got the biggest news of the year right here.”  He holds up the camera. “Send Robbie in, we’ll have it ready in half an hour.” He starts to go into his office.  

“Mr. Jameson, Mr. Jameson, wait,” Betty says.  Jameson pauses.

“What is it?”

“Uh, well,” Betty looks concerned.  “You weren’t answering your cell phone, so we couldn’t tell you, but we already put the paper to bed.”  

“What?” Jameson shouts.  “What’d you do for the front page?”  

“Peter was here with his pictures just five minutes ago,” Betty explains.  “You just missed him.”  

“Dammit!” Jameson yells.  “You’re telling me you put the paper to bed not five minutes ago, and you can’t wake it back up?”

“I--I’ll call, see if they’ve started printing yet,” Betty stammers.  

“You do that!”  Jameson marches into this office and slams the door.  

He smells him before he sees him -- cheap deodorant and sewage, now mixed with the smell of burnt metal and fire.  Jameson turns around.  

“You!” he hisses.  

“Hey picklepuss!” Spider-Man says cheerfully.  He’s sitting in Jameson’s office chair with his feet up on the desk.  His dirty, sticky spider-feet.  

“Get off!” Jameson shouts reflexively. “Off of my desk!”

Spider-Man jumps casually onto the ceiling and clings up there.  “Sorry about ending our relationship like that,” he says.  “I hope we can still be friends.”  

“You--you--”  Jameson sputters.  “Why are you alive?”  

“Well, I’m told my mommy and daddy really loved each other, and then--”

“You were dead!” Jameson insists.  “I saw the explosion!”  

“Really?  It must have looked beautiful from down there.  Like a firework,” Spider-Man responds.  “I was a little too busy falling thousands of feet.”

“That--but--” Jameson doesn’t know what to say.  He’s too completely surprised and furious.  

“Mr. Jameson,” Betty says, poking her head into his office, but not looking up to see the vigilante crouched on the ceiling.  “The press said that--”

“Nevermind!”  Jameson bellows, and Betty sighs and closes the door.  “What are you doing here?”  he barks up at Spider-Man, severely pissed off he won’t be getting that exclusive scoop.   

“Just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Spider-Man.  “It was either that, or your animal magnetism.”  

“Of course I’m okay!” Jameson shouts.  “Why in blazes would I not be okay?”

“Well, Smythe might still be after you,” Spider-Man explains.  

“I don’t need you watching out for me!”  Jameson bellows.  “I don’t need some webheaded freak hanging around all the time.  I’ve seen enough of you to last me a lifetime!  I never want to see you again!  Get out!  Out!”  

“Fine,” says Spider-Man moving towards the window and beginning to climb out. Before he goes, he turns and shoots webs at Jameson.  Jameson cries out as the force of the webs knock him back into the wall and glob him there.  “I still know where you live!”  Spider-Man calls tauntingly as he swings out the window and disappears into the night.  

Jameson face is beet red as he struggles in the webs, but it’s no good -- he’s stuck.  He opens his mouth and roars as loudly as he can, “WALLCRAWLING MENACE!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the fourth and final chapter, folks! I know this is very very late, and you have my magnificent ability to procrastinate to thank for that, because I wrote this chapter so so long ago (as you can probably guess, before TASM 2 had actually come out!) So I'm very sorry about that!!!


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